


dreams of gold

by lilabut



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Fights, Flash Forward, Flashbacks, Gen, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 35,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hates her as much as he loves her. He wishes to never see her again, but can never let her go. Her face is what carries him through the decades, and he wonders so often where love ends and hate begins to unfold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. alone among the wreck

**Author's Note:**

> This is based entirely on the movies, but there are spoilers for the book as the story unfolds. I know there are a lot of stories along these lines, but I wanted to write my own take on it.
> 
> Chapter title taken by Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons

 

**I. _your boldness stands alone among the wreck_**

****

_  
_

 

Her hands brushed angrily against the clods of mud that clung to her coat like a second skin, grey and dry, crumbling beneath the touch of her palm. There was a deep rumble outside, a thunder approaching, like faceless murmurs in the darkness.

 

The smithy was dark, illuminated only by the fierce orange glow of the fire, and no living soul would ever have thought of the harsh wind slicing through skin outside. The flames from the fire seemed to crawl along the stone walls of the small room, heat seeping into every crack, and her skin felt damp under the layers of worn out clothes already. Heat. Warmth. The ever freezing woods and creeks offered no such comfort, and her body felt lost and unsure.

 

Perhaps it was this lack of familiarity, perhaps the oh _so_ familiar sense of anxiety at being in the midst of a blooming town, people running and chatting and living their lives around her in an unsettling way that tore at her patience. Trees and fields, rocks and rivers, leafs and soft breezes, none of those unsettled her, instead offered nothing but peace and the only sense of home she had ever known.

 

 _You are very small._ The blacksmith's voice was deep, much deeper than she had heard in a very long time, and, as she turned and her heels, she felt as fascinated by his appearance than she had upon stepping to the cramped smithy earlier.

 

For a moment, she looked at the man sitting by the fire, his features illuminated by flames, sweat-covered skin shimmering in the darkness. A dwarf, no doubt, yet unlike any she had come across. Broad and strong, but with a foreign aura of elegance that seemed out of place within the ash covered, heated walls. Hair black as that of the turning sky, eyes clearer than a fresh stream after the melting of the snow.

 

His words echoed in her ears as he mirrored her invasive stare, and she felt anger boiling inside her veins like the fire stirring across the room.

 

 _I did not know it was the business of a blacksmith to make such remarks on his customers. And it seems rather unfit coming from a dwarf._ The smell of iron was prominent in the room, and it reminded her so much of blood that her insides coiled painfully. It did not matter how many times she had seen it, how often it had covered her hands – sickly warm and never truly gone. The smell, it was always the unique scent burning her from the inside out.

 

_You speak very freely._

 

 _Is there a reason I should not?_ She had expected no less stepping into the smithy earlier. He was not the first, and would not be the last. Too many had taken her for a joke, a foolish woman on the run, her female features too prominent to let her pass as a man.

 

 _Not one I know of._ In that moment, she looked up from the violent flames of the fire that her eyes had been fixated on, the wild dance so fluent, so gentle, that it carried the power to trick even the mightiest mind into a state of trance.

 

The blacksmith's words were followed by a heavy silence, and she knew in this moment, that he was different.


	2. a lonely road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Rainy Zurich by The Fray.

 

_**II. a town that holds a lonely road** _

__

_**** _

Details over-flooded her mind, always so terribly present and unforgiving. Every creek, every niche, every line along the way, every crunch of leafs or different temperature of the wind as it brushed her softly in spring or harshly pierced her skin in the deep and lonely winter.

The bigger picture, something to call _whole_ , seemed to escape her entirely, like an act of kindness that she allowed herself. It was all rough skin and heated gazes, hands roaming her body and a deep voice mumbling words in a language she only barely understood. She forgot about the blood in her veins, the long stretch of grey that lay behind her and the insecure darkness she could feel coming in the future. For a few moments in time, her mind was full with small details and sensations, and not burdened by the weight of her world, coming apart at the seams with every bit the sun moved in the mellow sky.

 

 _What is your name?_ His head was buried in the crook of her neck, and her long, pale hair mingling with the raven strands of his. Skin clammy, breaths short and unsteady, a tingle in every nerve that ran for miles through her body, like the thrill after a firework, bright excitement and soft relief, she loosened her grip on his hand.

 

Turning her head, she marvelled at the orange glow of the fire that now reflected in his dark eyes, deeper than any she had looked upon before. They seemed softer now, almost as if the heat of the flames that were mirrored in them were melting away the hardness, giving way to an aura of sadness, misty like a cold morning in the spring.

 

 _Elrénia._ Her voice barely above a whisper, a hoarseness to her voice that embraced her with comfort. She was no fool and far over the age of naive dreams, no matter how resistant her skin was to the passing of time. There would be no dawn for them, no awakening to the content hint of a smile on each other's faces. It was not the way this world worked, its twisted mechanisms cruel and unforgiving. Yet, for this lonely moment in time, she allowed comfort to wash over her like a waterfall of warmth and softness, like the taste of good food and the company of dear friends. Or so she imagined.

 

She kept her eyes closed as the door fell closed behind him eventually, and perhaps she told herself to dream of happier days. All she remembered where the rumpled sheets and the way the fire burned a little larger after he had stoked it. An almost gentle kiss in the darkness, the roaring of the wind against the thin glass of the window. There, in the solitary company of the fire, her own cold fingers brushing against the thick scar tissue that ran across the length of her thigh, she realized that she had never asked for his name. 

 

If she left with the first signs of dawn as she usually did - long before the town awoke and the streets filled with life - he would remain a stranger for the remainder of her life, would turn into a nameless and faceless memory, the warmth of the fire and the sensation of skin riddled with scars from where it had been burned away eventually taking over whatever she recalled of his strong form, deep voice and determined eyes.

 

Bare feet moved across the cold floor boards, and her eyes drifted out of the window, sprinkled with raindrops, so much like tears leaving their salty marks upon innocent skin. 

 

Soon, her fingers wrapped around the cool handle of a knife, the smooth texture as reassuring as the shine of the blade as she pulled it out of the bag, moonlight and fire reflecting in a dance of colours.

 

The delicate knife, almost beautiful in a horrifying and unsettling way, had, unlike the sword propped against the stones of the fireplace, never touched blood. Perhaps it was this thought that made her see a hint of beauty in it, perhaps it was why it gave her comfort as she slipped it underneath the cushion before slipping back into bed, hands balled into fists as the night went on. The darkness brought no comfort, though, and she wondered how the world outside could go on with the black veil of night so tight and unforgiving.

 


	3. rivers and lakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine.

 

**III. _no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out_**

****

**__ **

 

It was a sense of curiosity and the lingering feeling of cold and emptiness inside which led her way through the semi-darkness of dawn, and caused her feet to come to a slow stop in front of the run-down smithy.

 

The window looked as milky and unwelcoming from the outside as she remembered it from the inside, diving her away rather than pulling her closer. Still, her determination – although she found no explanation for it – was utterly strong. Her forehead wrinkled as she saw a hint of light inside the stone building.

 

The scent of last night's storm was still prominent in the air, so thick she could almost grasp it with her fingers, buried deeply inside a pair of leather gloves. The weight of her sword rested heavily against the left side of her body, hidden well underneath the thick, plain coat.

 

Too many of her memories were littered with strangers, nameless faces in the dark, people whose paths she had crossed yet whose names were a mystery never to be solved. So, before the sharp instinct of self-preservation – for what good could this bring? - could hold her back and send her off into the wilderness once more, her fingers wrapped tightly around the rusty door knob.

 

No bell ringing, nothing to greet her entrance except the smell of fire and ash.

 

 _The sun has not risen yet, who_ – He looked weary as he stepped out of a narrow door frame that must lead to the back room, wiping his hands on a cloth, the circles under his eyes as dark as the awakening sky.

 

A moment of silence passed, the two of them standing entirely still in the dim light.

 

 _I'm leaving._ She hesitated for a flicker of a moment, her eyes straying away from his tired features to the array of weapons and tools on the stone wall. _You never told me your name._

 

He had no reason to tell her, and she knew that, just like she knew she had been foolish to give away her own. Names mattered little in the wild, and only bore the danger of exposing oneself to the countless dangers they contained.

 

 _Thorin._ It seemed an odd conversation. Two strangers standing a room apart while the sun fought to break through the clouds.

 

The sound of his name brought back memories in her mind, memories of a time when _home_ still had a meaning and the loss of it seemed impossible and much like the darkest possible fate. Memories of stories whispered behind the shelter of trees.

 

_Son of Thráin?_

 

_Indeed._

 

_That means you are..._

 

He simply nodded, dropping the cloth on a bench as he strode towards the fireplace. She could see it now. The honour. The bravery. Royal blood. The pain and pride of a king robbed of his crown.

 

Hesitantly, she took a step forward, as well, dropping the hood of her cloak. Perhaps out of respect, perhaps out of politeness, she never knew. _Why are you-_

 

 _A mere blacksmith?_ There was an edge to his deep voice, more than bitterness and the weary, dull ache that seemed to linger upon his shoulders. Almost like sadness, she figured, swallowing hard.

 

_No._

 

He turned then, staring deeply and suspiciously into her eyes.

 

_Who are you really?_

 

. . . .

 

**ninety-two years later**

 

The lawn was neatly cut, and the lingering smell of grass told her it had been done recently. Fresh and crisp, carrying a little bit of sunshine even in the night.

 

Even in the pale light of the moon she could see what would surely be a feast for the eye in daylight, a garden filled with flowers and trinkets, a small bench placed comfortably against the hill.

 

Firmly, she knocked on the perfectly round door, the mark she had been looking for glowing in the moonlight. Inside, she could hear immediate shuffling, shadows flickering behind the small window that sat next to the door, just as round, just as perfectly cosy.

 

_There's nobody home. Go away._

 

Her eyebrows wrinkled in confusion at the words that echoed from behind the door.

 

_Bother somebody else. There's far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is._

 

The voice grew louder, and the sense of hospitality she had first felt upon stepping through the small gate, was dissolving quickly.

 

There were more words mumbled, and she took a step back as the door finally opened, and her eyes fell upon the slightly desperate looking hobbit, who, she assumed, was Bilbo Baggins.

 

_Good evening._

 


	4. we all fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Replace Me by Andrew Belle.

 

 

  
**IV.** _**cause we've all fallen for someone we're wrong for** _

__

_**** _

 

An amused smiled danced across her lips, and from the far end of the room, her eyes met Gandalf's. His smile closer to a smirk, pipe secured in the corner of his mouth, shaking his head in amusement.

 

The merry sound of the dwarves' song filled the warm room, candles burning softly in every little niche and corner. More than once, she had to pull her head out of the way of yet another dish as it flew across the room, the sound of plates and bowls clinging against each other, creating a rhythm so lively that she felt a tingle in her legs, a sense of comfortable, excited restlessness.

 

There was the lingering taste of good wine and fine cheese, soft bread and ripe tomatoes on her tongue, and the feeling of a full, satisfied stomach brought a wave of tiredness upon her. Rarely did she find herself longing for a soft bed and the promise of a hearty breakfast, her mind usually too occupied to even spend a moment wasting her time on such hopes. In this moment however, as the dwarves' melody came to an end, she looked upon the baffled expression on Bilbo's face as he saw the cleaned and stacked dishes, she found herself longing desperately for a shelter like this.

 

Three harsh knocks on the front door brought silence to the room, everyone's heads turning towards the hall. The pleasant drowsiness she had felt made way for a rush of anxiety which had followed her all the way into the Shire, clinging to her like a leech, never letting go, always there in a dark corner of her mind.

 

 _He is here._ Gandalf's words were calm and clear, pointing out the obvious, and yet they brought with them a sense of reality, as if his announcement completed the scene that unfolded in front of her.

 

As everyone made their way towards the door, lead by Gandalf who looked more tense than she remembered him ever looking, her eyes caught the eagerness spread across he dwarves' faces. It was an eagerness she understood, yet could not share. Nine years had passed since she had last seen Thorin. And while Gandalf had never decisively confirmed her expectations, she knew very well that her presence would merely be endured by Thorin. Not wished, not asked for.

 

 _Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way. Twice._ A grey shimmer wound itself through his dark hair, like streams of silver through deep rock. _I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door._ She noticed the smile on his face as he greeted his nephews, and despite the dull ache she felt coursing through her blood, it came as no surprise when he took no notice of her.

 

She wondered once more why she had agreed to Gandalf's wishes, why she had come along against her better judgement. Neither gold nor jewels sparked any interest inside her, for in the dark and depth of the woods, they were mere pebbles along the way. The lost kingdom of the dwarves was of no significance to her, either. No more than any other crown that ruled Middle Earth. And, breathing in deeply as she took in poor Bilbo's exasperated expression, she knew very well that no gratefulness, no forgiveness for deeds never done would be granted.

 

 _Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar._ A mingle of deep laughter erupted from the gathering, and as Thorin lead the way through the sitting room without another word to Bilbo, his eyes only briefly met hers – void of any emotion she could decipher in the flicker of the candlelight.

 

For a short moment, lasting no more than a handful of heartbeats, she stood motionlessly in the doorway. The slightly hurt expression on Bilbo's face caused pity to grow inside of her, yet she doubted Gandalf insisting on bringing the hobbit along as much as Thorin's remark had suggested.

 

Perhaps, however, she was just as misplaced, a lost soul wandering the woods, grasping at the flickering hope of a quest that would bring her no peace and no future.

 

. . . .

 

**five months later**

 

Silver edges digging into her skin. Sapphire dark against her pale palm. Reflecting the moonlight and stars. A million lights scattered across the calm lake.

 

 _Where are you going to go?_ Voice hesitant. Almost fearful, the waves of grief building a high tower.

 

 _Back to where I came from._ The darkness of sapphires a mystery. Almost as pitch black as the night sky. Full of secrets.

 

_Where is that?_

 

_The wilderness. That is where I belong._

 

_I don't think Thorin would have wished for you to return to that._

 

 _Thorin wished for a great deal of things, Bilbo. I am not certain I was ever..._ A single tear running down her cheek, lost in the darkness, like a diamond in a sea of stars.

 


	5. heavy heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Your Heart Must be Tired by Sanders Bohlke.

 

**V. _when the rain comes pouring on your heavy heart is beating strong_**

 

 

 

Her fingers were wrapped around pint in front of her, so much smaller than any they served in the inns of men, and she listened to the conversation unfolding around her. It was what she did best, what she would name her most valuable strength. For the wild offered nothing more than enough silence to truly listen, and too much solitude to speak.

 

 _They will not come._ She sighed, perhaps not sharing the same disappointment as the dwarves moaning around the table, but feeling defeated nonetheless. _They say this quest is ours and ours alone._

 

For a fleeting moment, Thorin's eyes fell upon hers, filled with the familiar blame, a fire burning behind the infinite, dark pools much like the one in whose shine she had first met him. Sometimes, in rare moments scattered across the planes of the last decades, she thought she could make out a faint glint, a distant memory of the warmth with which he had gazed upon her that night. In moments like these, however, her own eyes quickly dropping to her lap as Bilbo edged closer to the gathering, she was almost entirely consumed by the fear that that warmth was lost forever.

 

_You're going on a quest?_

 

The determination in Thorin's eyes. The torment she knew filled the many pages of his life. The anger he held for more than a dragon from the North, or herself, even. The word _quest_ seemed utterly wrong, not nearly grasping the core of what this was about. Nothing good awaited them in the end, except great value and a long lost home, erased from the memory of almost all.

 

 _Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light._ She shuffled to make room as Gandalf spread out the small map, the fiery red of a delicately drawn dragon catching her eye. _Far to the East, over ridges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single, solitary peak._

 

_The Lonely Mountain._

 

In the long years of her life, flowing through time like silver glass in the night, she had never set eyes upon the solitary mountain in the East. All the years she had spent in the wild, all the paths she had taken, had never led her there. From the havens far in the West, the cold lands in the North, vast planes of Rohan, the shine of the white city, the shadows of a land once darker than the night. Yet never the peak they were setting out for now.

 

_What beast?_

 

Her eyes never strayed from the red markings on the pale parchment, weathered by the years, yet the flames as clear as the day the ink had soaked the surface. Long enough had she known Gandalf to see in his eyes that the dragon, Smaug, was by far not the sole reason to initiate this quest, and she feared whatever power could force him to send these dwarves into which could so easily become their downfall.

 

Fire, flames, ash. Tongues of heat in the sky, lapping at raw skin, hair singeing, dead bones scattered along gleaming coal.

 

_The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us. But we're numbered just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best, nor brightest._

 

Tearing her gaze away from the flames on parchment, she looked up at Thorin, age truly beginning to leave its bitter marks on him. Utterly tired. Amusement barely a whisper on his face as Gandalf stood in the eye of the storm, a brawl erupting around them over dragons slain and promises never made. She remembered a younger dwarf, riddled with weariness just the same, but with a glow of promise surrounding him in bright light. As he stood, his growl bringing silence to the room, she saw none of it. A fierce leader. A king, perhaps. Yet she saw no hope, no promise. Only bitterness.

 

_Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?_

 

She remained quiet as the group around her began to cheer, and her eyes fell upon Balin, sitting back just as hesitantly. _You forget, the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain._

 

_That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true._

 

The key in Gandalf's hand, like a beacon in the night. A murmur so loud, so thundering, that she felt a shiver down her spine.

 

 _There's another way in._ Destiny forged into iron. A key that lasted for generations. Riddles, secrets. Thorin grasping for the last of his father's memory.

 

_The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage. But if we're careful and clever, I believe it can be done._

 

_That's why we need a burglar._

 

Her eyes rested upon Bilbo, peaking almost curiously over Thorin's shoulder, small and innocent and still entirely overwhelmed, and in this moment, she began to feel that Gandalf's choice might not have been as far-fetched and foolish as it had first seemed.

 

 


	6. one breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Holding On And Letting Go by Ross Copperman.

 

**VI. _the quiet rush of one breath is all we're waiting for_**

****

**__ **

 

He stared at her for a long time, the light of the rising sun filling the smithy with a faint, almost cooling rosy shine. He showed no reaction to her words, simply staring, never straying. While she had felt determined, she could still not quite point out why she had told him all of this. It made no more difference that she had heard his name before than a single candle in the night forest. He was a stranger.

 

 _You look nothing like an elf._ His voice cold. Harsh. Eyes taking her in with precaution now.

 

 _I know._ She merely breathed the words, her eyes falling upon her silhouette mirrored in the milky glass of the window. He was so utterly right that her heart threatened to tear in two, restlessness spreading through her like a fever. Never belonging. Nowhere, except the vast emptiness of the wilderness.

 

She was small, standing barely a few inches above Thorin. Her ears, hidden always beneath the long waves of her pale hair, looked much like those of any human woman now awakening in the town around them. From what little she could remember of her mother, she knew that she resembled her in nothing but the golden colour of her hair, and the pale complexion of her skin. Everything else seemed to be the mirror image of her human father, yet her body, unlike his, was set in stone. Frozen in time.

 

 _Then how is it possible?_ There was no curiosity in his voice, and she had expected none. The man who had kissed her so fiercely last night seemed gone, his shadow remaining, riddled by betrayals of the past.

 

 _I'm afraid I have no answer to that._ She spoke the truth, and as the room fell silent, wondered why she felt so utterly obligated to tell this man the truth, to hand him, on a silver tray, a reason to despise her like she knew his kin despised hers. Or what he believed to be hers. Something she had never been sure of in all her long life.

 

_Leave._

 

She turned around then, gloved fingers fumbling for the edge of her hood to pull it back over her head as she stepped into the newborn light of day. Never did she look back, yet his face would haunt her like whispers in the night from the moment she stepped through the edge of the forest that lined the town. Into darkness and loneliness.

 

. . . .

 

A soft breeze waved through the air, chilly, despite the warmth this spring day had brought, sunlight soaking into every stone. Her arms were wrapped around herself as she stood in front of the small gate to Bag End, her heels digging into the crumbly path beneath her feet. Stars clear in the sky, the world seeming too wide and endless.

 

 _I thought you had left already._ His steps were coming closer, each crunch of the ground trembling in her ears, and she wondered briefly where Gandalf had gone, for him and Thorin had been the last awake by the time she had said goodnight to Bilbo.

 

 _Not yet._ Her voice was a whisper, afraid to break the peace of the quiet night. From the corner of her eye, she saw Thorin coming to a stop beside her, arms across his chest much like hers, yet defiantly, and not to shield himself from the cold and the night.

 

_It would be wiser to get some rest._

 

 _The night is awfully long enough._ Her head turned to meet his eyes, inspecting her, fixing on her face as if he had never seen her, yet heard stories and tales, attempting to piece together the image he had of her in his mind with the unaltered truth of reality. His eyes had softened, enough for her to spy the disappointment in them. _I know you do not wish me here._

 

 _No more than that hobbit._ There was no flicker of anger in his eyes, features never changing as he spoke. _Yet I know your skills, none of which I assume Mr Baggins can show for._

 

 _Should I thank you for that?_ Arms falling down her sides, fingers dangling in the fresh breeze, a look of question in her eyes as she tried to remember the last time she had smiled in his presence.

 

 _Thank me for nothing. You owe me no more gratitude than I owe you praise._ Sighing, her gaze fell towards the ground, her boots covered in dust from the dry path. For a few moments, slow breaths taken, no words spoken, the world seemed a right place, no anger, no rage, no vengeance, no betrayal. Only the night and the quiet solitude of two people, connected only by a string of painful memories.

 

_It has been a long time._

 

 _Indeed._ His hand brushed against hers, and neither of them moved. There were no fingers intertwined, no palms pressed together. Simply the backs of two hands joined, and her heart ached to remember a smile.

 

 _Don't do this, Thorin_. It burst out of her like lightning, a moment of weakness, the fear of losing him to this quest too gripping to ignore. _Let it go._

 

 _You know nothing of what you're speaking._ His hand pulled back then, and his words came harsh and unforgiving. As much as she knew he hated her, despised her, despised the past they shared, she also knew how much he had trusted her once, in the darkness not so very different from this. When he had spoken freely, as if no hurt or blame stood between them like ice bringing dead to the gentle waves of water in the winter.

 

_I know enough of what you fear, and it will destroy you._

 

He turned without another word, and her eyes followed his slow steps down the path. For a brief moment, he seemed to hesitate. _I have made many mistakes in my life time. You were the greatest._

 

The words that had passed his lips clung like shadow to the moonlight, and when his form disappeared around the corner, Elrénia finally remembered a smile, the ghost of which dancing around the edges of her lips as a single tear spilled from her eye and left its salty trail down her cheek.

 


	7. at the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Skinny Love by Bon Iver.

 

**VII. _I'm breaking at the britches and at the end of all your lies_**

 

She did not miss Thorin's annoyed glances in Bilbo's direction, or the grumble in his voice whenever he occasionally spoke. The initial flicker of amusement in his eyes, perhaps a relic of younger, more carefree days when this would have been an adventure, bright and promising, not a quest loaded with the burdens of his house, had quickly turn a into gruff, sour mask.

 

He lead them silently, yet pride and determination clear in his posture, the outlines of a king against the deep green of the forest.

 

As her fingers caught a lose curl of her pale hair, tucking it safely back behind her ear, her eyes fell upon Bilbo, still unsteady in his saddle, fumbling and _so_ obviously attempting to find a more comfortable position. While she herself sat securely in the worn saddle, she was defenceless against the compassionate smile that tickled her lips. She preferred to travel on foot, feeling the forest and under bush change with the conditions, hearing the ancient voice of life that grew in the depths of the woods, and she knew she would have been much quicker.

 

It was her element. The thick deepness, dark silence of the woods, the texture of dry earth as it crumbled beneath her feet, the icy sting of water piercing her skin as the waves lapped at her calves, snow and wind lashing against her cheeks as storms brew.

 

She knew her way around this world, with all its distinct places and hidden valleys, better than most, and in her heart, it brought her much pain to accept that this, her undeniable skill, was all that tied her to Thorin's will.

 

 _So, you're an elf then?_ It was – although she could not yet be entirely sure – Bofur, who, until now, had been riding quietly at her side. _Cause you don't look it._ No judgement in his voice, nothing more than an inspecting glance – which she had felt upon her for a while – that lasted a moment too long.

 

 _My mother was an elf._ It was not truly a reply to his question, yet she hoped it offered a sense of explanation that pleased the dwarf who seemed quite willing to approach her with a sense of kindness and respect.

 

_Was?_

 

Flashes of memories. Golden hair. Broken smile set in cracked stone. _She died long ago._

 

 _So, immortality does not live up to its name._ It was no question, and the weight of the uttered words was as heavy as the burning of the glances she felt piercing her back.

 

 _No_. Her fingers suddenly felt terribly cold. _No it does not._

 

. . . .

 

**sixty years later**

 

 _I can not say it was easy to find you._ Two faces, unaltered, like statues in the halls of kings.

 

 _Perhaps I never wanted to be found._ Old friends, ties long cut loose.

 

_I would not have found you then._

 

_You're a wizard, Gandalf. We both know you would have found me in the end._

 

The world on the brink of darkness.

 


	8. tears fall dry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Keeping Warm by Butterfly Boucher.

 

**VIII. _sadness steals like the cold and my tears are falling dry_**

 

Ten long years had passed since the dawn on which she had stepped out of the smithy, away from him into the security of the woods. Ten long years in which his face and voice, the bitterness in his eyes and the echo of his touch, had haunted her dreams like a biting rush of wind on a bitter winter's night.

 

When her eyes fell upon him in the dark corner of the crowded inn, it seemed utterly impossible. The relentless, merciless, deadly cold of the snow fall had driven her into the warmth of the run-down place, and she kept her head low, face hidden beneath her cloak as she felt eyes follow her, a stranger, and an odd one she was.

 

Her feet stood still, neither did she blink when a man, smelling of ale, sweat and rotten life, bumped into her, the sticky, cold liquid from his pint immediately soaking her already drenched coat. _Sorry, darling._

 

It was in this moment that he looked up from the parchment spread out over the worn table. To anyone else, it would have seemed that the past decade had not changed him. He was no blacksmith any more, that much would have caught anyone's eye, his clothes not rich, yet thick and heavy and deep blue, like the ocean she had looked upon for so long, mesmerized by the coming and going of waves when there was no end in sight. Still, her eyes were not easily fooled, and, even from afar, she could see that time had left small, insignificant marks on him. The kind it never left on her.

 

Darker circles around his eyes. Fine lines. Thinner hair, yet still as raven black as she remembered.

 

He never looked back down at the parchment, and she found herself walking into the dark corner, closest to the fireplace, never forgetting his last words to her. _Leave. Leave._

 

.

 

When he touched her she felt as if the palms of his hands were burning away the pale expanse of her skin, and she wondered if it was the rage boiling inside of him that caused his skin to burn up bright and lethal.

 

His skin much darker against her own, weathered from dust and ash and blood. So many times she had wandered – in the dreams that left her no time to rest – through the meadows of this world, streams of sunlight prickling on her bare skin, no cloth, no chain, no weapon there to cover it up. Would it ever change her? Would the streams of warmth leave their marks one day? Memories of passing time?

 

He did not kiss her, and there was a force behind his movements, a frantic attempt to restrain himself against the disgust with which he had eyed her before, and yet he failed. The failure only seemed to fuel his hatred, and her fingers dug deeply into his skin as he pulled her flush against him.

 

The windows were beginning to freeze when she slipped her hood back over her head, her long hair now lose, tendrils of gold running down the front of her body like a waterfall of molten gold.

 

_If I ever need to find you, where do I look?_

 

She turned to look at him, an edge of softness to his voice that made her wonder of the man he might have been to her, had the very blood in her veins not build a fortress between them.

 

 _Why would you need to find me?_ It felt as if her heart had grown attached to the inside of her chest, unable to beat, her lungs straining against the weight of her words, and when he stood to turn away from her, she longed to reach out, to wash away all memories, to forget. Instead, she sighed, soaking up the very last debris of warmth from the fire, bracing herself for the bitter winter that awaited her outside.

 

-

 

 _Hold it a little higher._ Bilbo smiled gratefully as her advice brought him a more steady seat in his saddle, and she simply nodded as he thanked her.

 

Gandalf was talking to Thorin ahead of them, and while her ears missed not a single word that was spoken, she focussed on the rush of the wind, the splatter of a nearby river, and the rush of her own breath instead.

 

 _Elrénia, right?_ Bilbo was looking at her cautiously, the abundance of names he suddenly found himself confronted with obviously causing him to feel a little insecure.

 

 _That is right._ She smiled, the stretch of her cheeks not familiar, for the solitude of the canopy of trees bore little reasons to smile or laugh.

 

 _Why are you here?_ His face turned into a grimace as his pony wiggled its head. _I understand I am to be the burglar, and the others, they want their gold and mountain back. But why are you here?_

 

She looked up to see Thorin's head turn ever so slightly, just enough for him to cast a glance at her at Bilbo's word.

 

_I suppose I am an old friend._

 


	9. a dying star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Feels Like the End by Mikky Ekko.

 

**IX. _darkness swallows a dying star_**

 

For spring, the night was bitterly cold, and she tugged at the hem of her cloak, pulling it tighter around her body. Knees pulled up to her chest, back resting against rock, she buried her hands between the warm skin of her thighs and stomach, feeling her fingers prickle as the heat soaked into them.

 

Not a single cloud disturbed the beauty of the night sky, countless stars glowing on the black canopy. There were no sounds echoing through the valley despite the even breathing of their company, roaring snores and crackling of the small fire.

 

Sleep would not yet come, and she focussed instead on the lingering taste of the ripe apple on her tongue, sweet and sour all the same, like a hint of autumn and summer mingled into one.

 

Her eyes rested on the East, darkness swallowing the world. A slight shuffle, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Bilbo, frustrated and exasperated, slowly tiptoeing over to the ponies. Hobbits were quite marvellous, she wondered, as Bilbo reached out an apple kindly, such a contrast to his previous complaints and ruffled nose in respond to the ponies. There was a kindness Bilbo seemed to carry out in the open unlike any she had ever encountered.

 

A screeching sound in the distance, out of the darkness like lightning, suddenly caused the tiny hairs on the back of her neck to stand, and her eyes instinctively shot down to her sword.

 

Not even the faintest hint of blue stood out in the darkness, and the tension in her body softened, if only a little.

 

_Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood._

 

The scar lining her thigh burned in her mind, and she could almost feel the warmth of her own blood coating her hands. Scarlet. Thick. Draining all life from her very core.

 

 _You think that's funny?_ Her eyes fell upon Thorin, towering over his nephews. _You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?_ His eyes met hers for the briefest of moments, and the burning gave way for a numbness that knew no name, finger trailing the white scar until her breath hitched.

 

_You know nothing of the world._

 

The world. What was it but a dark and twisted web, sharp edges and claws, holding you captured until the moment your last breath washed over you? Kili and Fili were still so awfully young, and they could not be blamed for still seeing the world as something promising, exciting, heroic and worth fighting for. She had given up the fight long ago, and while there were small battles to win, like their quest that lay ahead in the East, she knew, deep down, that the world in its whole could not be saved.

 

_Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs._

 

She knew what was to follow the moment Balin's words gave way for the tense silence of the night. Her eyes never strayed from Thorin, his silhouette proud against the dark of the night sky, a constellation of stars lining his head like the crown he never got to bear. She had heard the story before, one night as rich in stars as this, under the canopy of the trees.

 

. . . .

 

Her head rested against his bare chest, the long waves of her hair sheltering her body like a veil, soft and light as his arms wrapped themselves protectively around her. Fingers intertwined, twisting against the flames of the fire. Night pitch black, stars twinkling ominously through the roof made of leafs above their heads.

 

_You were there, weren't you? The battle of Azanulbizar?_

 

His heart pounding in his chest, her ears catching the rhythm like a breath of life.

 

_I was._

 

Her lashes brushing against his skin with each exhausted flutter of her lids.

 

_I remember that. I could smell death as far as Lórien._

 

An agonizing twist in her stomach. Memories long forgotten.

 

_Did you live there then?_

 

Her hand flat against his stomach. A shiver.

 

_I have not lived with my kin in two hundred years._

 

Sadness flowing in between breaths. His lips pressed against the crown of her head.

 

_Did you fight a battle in your lifetime?_

 

Sleep threatening to take over, warm arms like a blanket around her.

 

_No. Never._

 

A sigh, eyes closed in comfort.

 

_Then what is that scar?_

 

Fingers running down the length of the white scar tissue, so much paler than her skin. Flashes of pain. Disfigured faces. Blood.

 

_I have fought. Yet no battle._

 

A shiver ran down her spine, his fingers lingering.

 

 _I hope you'll never have to._ A kiss on her forehead. She knew it would end, that it meant nothing. _It changed everything._

 

_Your grandfather, he was lost?_

 

His arms pulling her closer, his muscles tightening beneath her touch.

 

_Azog. He took his head._

 

Anger oozing from his words, yet one she had never felt from him before.

 

_Who is he?_

 

_Orc scum. Pale. The Defiler, they called him. He took my grandfather's head and I took his hand. He ought to be rotting somewhere._

 

Eyes meeting. A meaningless kiss. Deep, for each might be the last in this world. The night taking over.

 

. . . .

 

_There is one I could call king._

 

It sounded different coming from a another mouth than Thorin's. Less hateful. Less angry. More heroic. Yet no battle in this world had ever been.

 

 


	10. took you away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Looking for You Again by Matthew Perryman Jones.

 

**X. _it took you away, further from me_**

 

The rain did not bother her the slightest, yet the cold seeped into her bones, chilling her from the inside out.

 

 _Can't you do something about this deluge?_ The first words spoken after a long silence filled only with moans and groans, sighs and annoyed shuffling.

 

 _It is raining, master dwarf. And it will continue to rain until the rain is done._ Water dripping down her nose as Gandalf answered. _If you wish to change the weather of the world you should find yourself another wizard._

 

 _Are there any?_ She turned to see poor Bilbo, no hood, nothing to shield himself from the rain, soaking wet, hair clinging tightly to his skull.

 

_What?_

 

 _Other wizards._ As Gandalf began talking about the other four wizards who wandered this world, her eyes met those of Dwalin. He glared at her from the corner of his eye, suspicious, inspecting, blaming, as if the very rain drenching their clothes was of her evil doing.

 

She felt no spite, yet could not hide a fracture of herself that longed to speak up, to protest loud and clear. Still, she knew better, knew it was something fundamental, something bound tightly and deeply in their blood. Something she was utterly defenceless against.

 

For a moment, she held his gaze, the storm darkening the forest around them more and more with each heartbeat that passed, until she allowed her eyes to drop to the ground, muddy and slick.

 

Without any clear intention, she found herself riding up next to Gandalf a few short minutes later. They rode on in silence, leaving the rain to compose a symphony of its own.

 

 _Have you any regrets about your decision yet?_ He knew, and she knew very well that he did. Dwalin had not been the first and only member of their company to eye her with mistrust and a sense of caution, and she was certain he would not remain the last until their journey was over.

 

 _I have regretted my decision before I even made it._ It had rained just as badly that day, not more than a few weeks ago, her pale hair then clinging to her back. _To speak freely, I fail to see why I let you talk me into this. I see the way they look at me._ Her voice kept down, almost mumbling into the warmth of her coat, the rain swallowing her words, disguising them, protecting them from unwanted ears.

 

 _Give them some time._ Not even Gandalf could make the words sound sincere. Yet she had not come here to tend old wounds and care for set in stone grudges, to resolve a hatred that ran through generations, thicker than blood.

 

 _Do you think by the time we have reached our journey's end, they will have forgotten about the elven blood in my veins?_ Spite heavy in her voice, dripping from every syllable. She caught eye of Thorin in this moment, turning to look at them. The expression on his face was too familiar, and she knew he had heard her words.

 

 _They will not have._ His words echoing from bitter experience, more personal. A piercing pain.

 

She could only whisper into the frigidity of the rain. _At least he speaks freely._

 

. . . .

 

**sixty years later**

 

 _How_ did _you find me?_ Hands cold, so much colder now than ever before.

 

 _I looked._ Was it ever anything else?

 

_May I ask why?_

 

 _I am afraid I have come to ask something of you._ A look of fear. Respect. Hesitance.

 

 _Whatever it is, the answer is no._ She turned away, away from everything.

 

_Elrénia-_

 

 _No, Gandalf. I let you persuade me into something once before, and it..._ Pain, death, injustice, greed, the stone around her neck, the scar along her throat. _Just leave me be._

 

 _Listen to what I have to say, then you still have time to refuse._ Despair unlike any she had ever known. _Do you remember the ring Bilbo found?_

 


	11. be still

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Be Still by The Fray.

 

**XI. _if no one is standing beside you, be still and know I am_**

 

 _We'll camp here for the night._ As her feet hit the soft ground, she felt pure energy surging through her veins. She took a deep breath, letting the fresh breeze fill her lungs. Eyes closed, sunlight warming her skin.

 

But peace and comfort were washed away so much quicker than they had come. A shiver. A chill that took hold of the very marrow in her bones. The smell of death and ruin. She feared opening her eyes, yet when she did, they fell onto the ruins of what used to be someone's home. Warm and safe, before it was destroyed.

 

 _A farmer and his family used to live here._ Gandalf voice resonated the terror in her mind. She took determined strides towards what the claws of rain, ice and wind had left behind. _I think it would be wiser to move on._

 

Her hand touched the rotten remains of a door frame, weeping wood crumbling underneath her touch. She looked up at Gandalf, nodding. _Something terrible has happened here._

 

Thorin marched up the low hill towards them, their words clearly having reached him.

 

 _We could make for the hidden valley._ Her eyes closed at Gandalf's words, and she could hear Thorin's answer in her mind before it even passed his lips.

 

 _I have told you already. I will not go near that place._ She allowed her hand to drop to her side, lifeless and immobile now.

 

_Why not? The elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice._

 

 _I don't need their advice._ Only now did his eyes meet hers. For a second, he seemed to hold in his words. A quandary that lasted no more than Gandalf's next words took to echo between them.

 

_We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us._

 

 _Help._ Spite burning in his eyes like a reflection of the fiery sky imprinted in his memory. _The dragon attacked Erebor. What help came from the elves?_ Eyes passing over her at the last word, paying no more attention. _Orcs plunder Moria. Desecrate our sacred halls. The elves looked on and did nothing. You ask me to seek help from the very people who betrayed my grandfather. Who betrayed my father._

 

 _You are neither of them._ An image of a line broken, fallen, crumbled, scattered. _I did no give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past._

 

_I did not know they were yours to keep._

 

His eyes remained fixed on Gandalf, who strode through the gathering of their company mumbling furiously now. Taking one careful step closer, she could almost see the fury glistering in Thorin's eyes.

 

 _Perhaps he is right, Thorin._ The words would fall back on her like the gleaming blade of a knife, she knew. And yet she spoke, spoke openly and freely for the first time since they had left the imagery of Hobbiton behind them. _We can not read the map. What good does it do if it remains a secret to us?_

 

_What else would come from you? If you desire to stay with your kin, feel free to go._

 

He pushed past her, giving out grim orders to everyone he passed on the way. Eyes were now fixed on her, dozens of them, as she stood in the remains of what used to be a _home_ , someone's true sanctuary.

 

She wanted to shout at them, tell them that she wanted to stay as far away from the path Gandalf had in mind as they did. That it was not her fault that the elves had abandoned them all those countless years before. Yet she remained quiet, wrapping her arms around herself as the chill of death crawled beneath her skin.

 

No sleep would be found here tonight. Not for her.

 

. . . .

 

He found her. She had never told him how to that night, yet there he was, cupping her face almost gently in his hands now. In his eyes, she saw the pall of melancholy that had taken her mother's life, and she reached for him before she understood how, in this world, he had found her.

 

. . . .

 

The bowls of soup in her hands warmed her skin, the cracking of the fire, sparks glimmering in the night, and the chatter that erupted from their gathering seemed to breathe life back into the death-ridden ruin.

 

Her feet found easy hold on the unsteady ground as she made her way to the side of the broken down house. All she could see was his back, sitting up straight on a tumbled down wall of stone.

 

She knew he could hear her, yet he moved not an inch as she lightly stepped over the line of stone. _Here._

 

His hand took the bowl from her, not a peace offering, but a mere act of kindness, and as she sat down next to him with determination, no fear of his reaction gleaming in her mind, he turned.

 

 _Thank you._ She could feel his eyes lining the features of her face against the moonlight. _Why are you here?_

 

 _Because Gandalf asked me to_. It was the blunt truth, no embellishments, yet not entirely honest.

 

The soup was hot as it spread across her tongue. Raw in taste, purely to satisfy the roaring of many stomachs. _Why did you not decline?_

 

She remained quiet for a while, simply taking in the moon as it stood pale against the grey clouds.

 

 _I want to help you._ Her eyes sought out his, and she was glad for the sprawling green and rotting wood that sheltered them from the sight of the others. _I know how much this means to you._ The soup was long forgotten, put aside, as she reached out her bare hand.

 

Delicately, her fingers found a hold on his hand, their eyes never straying from each other's. For a brief moment, the darkness of the night faded away into a light she had almost forgotten.

 

. . . .

 

 _Why did you look for_ \- Her words were swallowed by his lips, urgent and unforgiving, crushing into hers without a moment of hesitance.

 

It took her by surprise to realize her own hands were clutching at his arms frantically, her own lips taking a stand in this battle they fought.

 

 _I don't know why._ His words were groaned rather than spoken, the warmth of his breath against her neck, and there was a desperation in his voice that only drove her further into his embrace.

 

. . . .

 

With a grievous sigh, he pushed her hand away. _I can't have you anywhere near me._

 

 _Why?_ She did not mean to ask, she never wanted to hear him spell out his hatred for her.

 

 _Because the sight of you..._ His eyes took her in, digging deeply into her soul before falling closed in misery and defeat. _If anything happened to you, if I lost you..._

 

_You sent me away._

 

_I know._

 

. . . .

 

Deliriously, his hands peeled the clothes away from her skin, and it took all the will she could muster to push him away, the palm of her hand pressing against the bare expanse of his broad chest.

 

 _Wait._ Breaths heavy. Eyes burning. _Why?_

 

 _Because_... He never finished, touching his forehead against hers instead, and as her eyelids fell shut in defeat, they swallowed the darkness of the forest around them.

 

. . . .

 

 _I know._ She wondered if he ever made a decision to accept his hate for her and let it guide him, or if whatever good she caused inside of him stood a chance against the darkness. _I couldn't be to blame for anything that happened to you._

 

His words sounded foreign, for honesty had never been the guiding line between them, not since the red dawn all those decades ago, when she had confessed. _Nothing will happen to me. And it would not be your fault. Did you force me to come?_ Her words alone urged him to look back into her eyes, and his head shook ever so slightly. _Did you drag me along?_ _No. So, it would be nobody's fault but my own._

 

Her attempt at reassurance was drowned when his hand suddenly cupped her cheek, warm and more caring than she remembered. _I can't lose you._

 

 _Then why send me away?_ A whisper as she leaned into his touch, too many days and nights, weeks and months that turned into years having passed since they had allowed themselves to give in.

 

 _Because I can bear this rage in my heart so much better when I don't have to look upon your face_. His thumb barely crazed the edge of her lip. _And see the hurt in your eyes_. A tear forming in her damp eyes, daring to break free. _Hurting you is the last thing I want, yet I do so time and time again._

 

 _I hurt you, too._ Her voice broke as she realized how close they were, the darkness in his eyes lifted by the white shine of the moon and the reflection of her own pale skin. She longed so dearly to lean closer, if only a mere inch, to feel his warmth and be reassured that he was still there, that his rage had not erased him yet.

 

 _Thorin!_ The forgotten soup was knocked from the edge of the wall as they both shot to their feet, the sudden uproar in the camp filling the night air. _Trolls!_

 

. . . .

 

After, he kissed her almost softly, a bare shadow of a kiss as his lips brushed hers. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his side.

 

The canopy speckled with stars peeking through the line of trees above their heads seemed more peaceful than infinite and endless.

 


	12. black cloud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Knocking on Heaven's Door by Bob Dylan.

 

**XII. _that long black cloud is coming down_**

 

The blade of her sword could slice just deeply enough through the troll's thick, resistant skin to bother him, a far cry from doing actual harm. In the midst of swords clinging and figures hurling through the air, she found herself roaming the crowd for poor Bilbo, unarmed, inexperienced. Only for a moment did she catch a glimpse of him, ducking underneath one of the trolls, disappearing from her sight.

 

She despised the feeling of flesh giving away underneath the stroke of her sword, yet there was no hesitation in her movements, fluent and efficient, almost, in a morbid way, delicate.

 

With a single light step, she hurled herself towards one of the trolls, massive, leathery, a creature scarred and marred by the wilderness. Her hand caught hold of his large arm, digging deeply into skin to hold herself steady. The creature let out a strangled groan as her blade sliced deeply down the length of his back. As he began to tumble backwards, precariously close to the cracking fire, she let go, landing steadily on her feet.

 

 _Bilbo!_ Kili shouted so loudly, his voice cleared the blare of the fight, and she looked beside herself to see Thorin holding back his youngest nephew. Her heart swelling with worry with each rush of blood that pumped though it, her eyes followed theirs.

 

 _Lay down your arms. Or we'll rip his off._ The fear in Bilbo's eyes too genuine. Too deep, bone chilling. He fingers curled so tightly around the sword in her hands that her knuckles stood out pearl white against her pale skin.

 

As the troll's words faded into a silence so mighty it induced a shiver, spreading through her entire body like poison, her eyes fell upon Thorin. For a mere second, barely the blink of an eye, she saw the determination in his eyes to let them go ahead, to not surrender in order to rescue the helpless hobbit being held high in the air. When Thorin put down his sword, fury flickered on his face like the high flames.

 

Each member of their company followed his example, swords and axes cluttering to the ground in a series of infuriated groans and metal's fall muffled by dry leafs.

 

The moment her fingers loosened and the delicate handle of her sword slipped through her grip like water, she felt as helpless as Bilbo struggling in the troll's strong grip. The thought came out of nowhere, the invisible string between herself and her sword one she had never known to be so strong before.

 

. . . .

 

**sixty years later**

 

 _The One?_ A mere nod, no words of no tongue enough.

 

Fear spreading through her veins like fire. A long forgotten darkness creeping over lands and hills into the very walls they stood within.

 

 _Bilbo has had it all these years?_ Memories of smiles and jokes and not a care in the world.

 

_Not any more._

 

Panic. _Then who does?_

 

_He left it to Frodo. His nephew. Bilbo has left the Shire. And now the ring must, too. Frodo will take it._

 

 _Why are you telling me this?_ Hands cold. So cold.

 

 _Because there are things that need to be done, and I can not keep an eye on the poor lad._ Realization hitting like a force of nature.

 

 _You can not ask me this._ A sigh, broken and battered.

 

Tending words, his eyes pleading with her. _You would not be alone._

 

 _No._ Turning once more.

 

_Elrénia-_

 

Cold hands forming fists. _No._ Please _. Leave me be._

 

 _If this fails, if this ring gets into the wrong hands, you know the world will fall._ Words like a lecture, a warning. Far away memories of stories told to her as a child reconnecting to a dark threat in her mind.

 

_Do not load this onto my shoulders._

 

No steps to be heard, yet a hand suddenly placed upon her shoulder. _Have you so little faith that you don’t believe this world is worth saving?_ Softer words, almost soothing, pitiful.

 

_I'm dying, Gandalf._

 

. . . .

 

The sack that restricted her was wound tightly around her frame, stinking of rotten flesh and the distinct smell of troll, burning her nostrils with each breath she had to take.

 

Close by, the fire was growing larger and larger as the trolls kept piling more wood, and the groans and muffled shouts of the dwarves tied a little too close to the flames echoed in the quiet of the night.

 

How far the night had progressed she could not tell. There was a dull pain in her lower back from the protruding rock she was lying against, Kili's struggling feet continuously kicking against her shins as she continued to carefully twist her arms inside her linen confinement.

 

She paid no mind to the trolls endless discussion, until- _Wait! You are making a terrible mistake._ Her eyes shot up just as Bilbo scrambled to his feet unsteadily. The moment he began rambling about seasoning, she understood his intentions. Had it not been for their unfortunate situation, she might have smirked at the hobbit's unexpected wits, yet there was no time as she tucked her chin against her chest. Catching the rope that held the linen sack together with her teeth, and with slow pulls and pushes of her head, she began to loosen the knot.

 

 _...to skin them first_. More rummaging and kicking, a foot rammed against her ribs at Bilbo's attempt to buy them more time, and she lost her grip on the rope for a short moment. The rotten taste of it was like acid against her tongue, and she tried hard to blend out any thoughts that reflected on how many cruel deeds had been done with it before.

 

 _Not that one, he's infected. He's got worms in his... tubes_. As they dropped Bombur back to the ground - landing dangerously close to her - she had to admire Bilbo's sense for buying time, for keeping the trolls occupied for the time being. _In fact they all have. They're infested with parasites, it's a terrible business. I wouldn't risk it, I really wouldn't._

 

Just as she regained a strong hold of the rope, a brawl broke out around her, the dwarves wrongly focussing their anger at Bilbo. _We don't have parasites. You have parasites_. She rolled her eyes, yet never ceased the pulling and pushing of her teeth, beginning to feel the knot loosen ever so slightly.

 

Everyone continued to deny poor Bilbo's attempt at saving each and every one of their lives, and not until she could feel a strong kick moving Kili a bit further away from her, did the mingle of shouts and curses fade into silence. She knew it must have been Thorin, although her current position did not allow her to look at him without craning her head. _I've got parasites as big as my arm. Mine are the biggest parasites, I've got huge parasites._

 

She closed her eyes then, letting all the noise drift further and further away until it was a mere dull humming on the horizon. All her focus lay on the task at hand, and while her teeth pulled once more, she twisted her arms further away from her body as before. _This little ferret is taking us for fools._

 

 _The dawn will take you all._ Her head shot up just as she pulled her left arm out of the linen sack, and when she spotted Gandalf standing on top of the flat rock behind the trolls, the sunrise already peeking across the edge of stone, the tension left her body.

 

With a flash of light, the rock burst in two, lifting the veil for the day's first light to shine over them. Painful groans filled the air, and she watched on as the three trolls, grimacing and desperately waving their arms, rapidly turned into solid, grey stone.

 

As she turned to finally have a look around, her eyes fell upon something she had not seen in far too long a time. A bright, genuine, relieved smile etched upon Thorin's face.

 


	13. back home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Violet Hill by Coldplay.

 

**XIII. _a love back home it unfolds_**

 

That night under the canopy of trees and stars, he stayed with her. As she slowly drifted off to sleep, she wondered about lives lived entirely like this, in someone else's arms. In someone else's heart.

 

. . . .

 

She was back up on her feet quicker than the others, her arms already freed, and without a moment of further thought, she stepped over the pile of limbs and squirming bodies. Kneeling down, she untied the rope keeping Kili from freedom with quick movements.

 

 _Thank you._ A nod, and she moved on, and as she turned Fili onto his back, everybody around them slowly began to scramble to their feet. Looking up, she saw Gandalf walking towards them, seemingly not worried in the slightest, almost appearing amused at the sight before him.

 

 _Elrénia._ In the midst of relief, dwarves rummaging around to collect themselves, and the quickly growing effort to free those of their company still trapped above the fire, the sound of her name was almost lost. It was nearer than she had thought, though, and as she turned, she found Thorin, stripped of most of his clothes like all the rest of them, standing barely a few feet behind her. _Are you alright?_

 

His hands came to rest upon her upper arms, gently, not pressing. As if by touching her he was capable of detecting any lies in her words. There was no care or worry in his eyes about how this might affect the rest of their company, and yet she knew that most likely, they would not even take notice of the moment they shared this very minute.

 

It might have seemed innocent, she wondered as she nodded _I am_ , yet the ache in her chest was proof enough that no innocence had ever been between them.

 

The doubt that flickered in his eyes made her wonder if perhaps he could indeed feel the pain that still throbbed in her lower back. _We should help._

 

His nod came slowly, and he at no point even strayed to look at anything or anyone but her. Slowly, almost tenderly, his hands fell off her arms, fingertips brushing her elbows and backs of her hands on the way down.

 

For a moment, all she did was breathe, eyes closed, feeling the air fill and leave her lungs. Focussing on nothing but that, allowing all other feelings to fade into the night.

 

. . . .

 

She awoke during the night, head resting against the rise and fall of his chest, and as if she were still sleeping, every limb numb and drowsy, her fingers began to trail the scars and lines and muscles of his chest. She drew, for long minutes and deep breaths, she drew the past and the future onto his skin, until he stirred, sighing almost softly.

 

 _What is keeping you awake?_ There was a laziness to his voice, husky and rough like gravel, barely audible between the rush of the wind, the snapping of burning wood and his heartbeat rushing against her ear.

 

 _I am not sure._ His hand brushing along her bare arm, pulling her a little closer.

 

 _Tell me about you_. Gently, he titled her head, looking down at her. His skin illuminated by the moon and the fire, and she wondered if she looked only a fragment as peaceful in this moment as she felt.

 

 _What shall I tell you?_ Her voice riddled with slumber, hand coming to rest against his chest calmly. This softer side of him irritated her, wonderment about why he suddenly showed so much care and affection creeping into her mind.

 

 _You told me, all those years ago, that you were only elf by half. It sounds like a story lies behind those words._ His hand cradling her face just barely, her eyes fluttering closed. _Do you really want to hear it?_

 

 _I do_. He kissed her then, softly, like the wings of a small bird fluttering in the spring breeze. _I do_.

 

So, she told him that night. About her elven mother, and her human father – slain by orcs before she was even born. How what little memories she still possessed of her mother were those of a frightfully beautiful, yet tremendously sad woman, who spent her days all alone, wandering the woods, reading nothingness in the stars.

 

Her words flowed like a stream of cold water, telling him about the day her mother passed, her broken heart ending her wretched life. Everything she told him. How she never seemed to belong, looking so little like the elves she grew up amongst and having no more roots. How, one day, the veil of grief which had been her mother's sole legacy, still clouding her hours, she had left, centuries ago, to live in the wild, the only place she ever truly belonged.

 

When her words had faded, she finally found the courage to look up at him, feeling vulnerable and cut open, her confessions like blood coating his hands. He spoke no words, merely continued as he had done the entire time, fingers sifting through the long strands of her hair, brushing her scalp, comforting her.

 

. . . . .

 

She had gotten back into her full clothes quicker than most of the dwarves, the lighter weight and fewer layers paying her advantage. Walking over towards Gandalf, she eyed the massive stone trolls, the expression of pain and surprise now set in stone for all ages to come. _You could not have come back just a little bit earlier, could you?_ She smiled at Gandalf, who eyed her with amusement.

 

_I see there was no reason to rush._

 

_I do hope that whatever caused you to run off in such a hurry was worth all this._

 

 _My dear Elrénia, not all things need to be worth something._ He looked at her with intent, and she could not help but feel as if he was trying to point something else out, something not fit to be spoken out loud at the moment.

 

 _Where did you go to, if I may ask?_ Her head turned as Thorin stepped back towards them, fully dressed, sword in his hand. Her own was back and secure at her side, and she let her fingers glide along the handle for a moment, as Gandalf faced Thorin.

 

_To look ahead._

 

_What brought you back?_

 

 _Looking behind._ She shared Thorin's grateful smile, yet when their eyes met for a brief second, all warmth seemed erased from them. _Nasty business. Still there, all in one piece._

 

 _No thanks to your burglar._ Finding Bilbo in the crowd, she could not help but feel anger boil inside of her at the injustice of Thorin's words. Had it not been for Bilbo, not all of them might still be here to feast in a victory none of them had earned. None of them. Except the hobbit.

 

 _He had the mind to pay for time. None of you thought of that._ There was a short silence, and she hoped dearly that Gandalf's words had more impact on Thorin than any he had spoken in Bilbo's defence before.

 

 _Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?_ As Thorin spoke, her eyes fell upon the stone trolls once more, and she wondered at his words, asking herself the very same question.

 

 _Not for an age. Not since a darker power ruled these lands._ With each word, Gandalf's voice become darker, laden with a shadow of a dark past, a past she had only heard about, had seen reflected in the woeful eyes of her mother. _They could not have moved in daylight._

 

_There must be a cave nearby._

 

As Thorin took a determined step away from the trolls, she felt a sense of unease overcome her. _I do not think it wise to go looking for a troll cave._

 

He did not even turn to look at her when he replied. _Making judgements is not why you are here, though._

 

. . . . .

 

 _Will you tell me about it?_ His lips had just parted from hers, and she wondered if this night would offer them any more sleep. Yet, even if the answer to that question was no, she knew she would gladly give up a few hours of slumber for merely a few more peaceful minutes in his arms.

 

_About what?_

 

_Erebor._

 

His eyes met hers, marvelling, a profound curiosity flickering deeply within them. _You know about it._

 

 _Not from you. And what you have to say about it is what I want to hear._ Her hand found his in the mingle of limbs, and as their fingers clasped together like a flower closing in the night, she kissed the back of his hand. _Not from stories I heard as a child or whispers in the dark corners of an inn, in that damp place furthest from the fire._

 

All her growing years she had spent amongst elves. Amongst a deeply rooted resentment for dwarves, for their culture, for their history. Perhaps it was the matter of never truly belonged with her own kin that separated her thoughts from theirs. That she need not hate someone who had done her no wrong.

 

However, it had influenced her nonetheless, and she longed to burn a new image in her memory, to hear Thorin's stories and memories, his side of the story. For him to open up as she had done before.

 

And he did. Holding her in his arms, he told stories of a young prince, of jewels and gold and silver, of his grandfather and father, of the brother he had lost, of the mountain that was his home, of every hidden corner that held a place in his heart, still beating evenly against her own.

 


	14. you haunt me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Fallen Empires by Snow Patrol.

 

**XIV. _you haunt me most when it's light_**

 

The smell was so omnipresent, so vile, that her throat stung with each breath. Even outside of the cave, leaning against the solid, cool rock which sheltered it, the stench was almost unbearable.

 

 _How can they stay in there for so long?_ The back of Bilbo's hand was pressed against his mouth, words muffled, his head shaking in disbelief.

 

 _Trolls are great hoarders._ Uncrossing her arms, she took a step away from the outer side of the cave, into the open space of forest. _There are surely more than a handful of treasures hidden in there._

 

_How can they be worth that stench?_

 

 _Do not let them hear that._ She replied with a laugh, a sly smile towards the hobbit. Yet, deep down, she could not hide the profound worry. Rooted deeply, almost flowing inside her very blood. Gold. Treasure. No stench in the world would be enough to keep them away.

 

 _Let's get out of this foul place._ Thorin's words echoed from inside the cave, carried on by the light breeze that upset the leafs. _Come on, let's go._

 

One by one, the dwarves came trotting out of the cave, and her eyes fell upon Thorin, carrying a sword. The slender curve of the blade, intricate markings along the silver shimmer of metal. Almost by instinct, her hand wandered to her own, smithy work just as delicate, just as unique. He carried and elvish word, and when he walked past her, his eyes bored deeply into hers.

 

They seemed less hostile than before. Less rough, and there was none of the dreaded anxiety of harsh words to be spoken. He merely stared, as if to prove her earlier warning wrong.

 

She felt angry, torn to pieces by the rage he stirred inside of her time and time again. Instead of holding his stare, provoked only by both of their hands so secure around the handle of a sword, she turned and knelt down, helping Bilbo pack.

 

 _Bilbo._ Gandalf had been last to exit the cave, yet she looked up only once to see the small sword he handed to the hobbit, before fastening the clasp of the leather backpack. _Here, this is about your size._

 

The company around them began to prepare to continue the long journey still ahead, rummaging and rumbling through the under bush.

 

 _I have never used a sword in my life._ The hobbit, so innocent and warm-hearted, grew dearer to her heart with each passing minute in his company. A part of her blamed Gandalf deeply for pushing Bilbo out of the round door of his comfort home. For, no matter what still lay ahead, he would not return the same. For, even if their quest was successful, he would have to witness the horrors of this world. Much like a child growing up to realize that death truly was irrevocable, and that not all pains could be healed by a mother's kiss.

 

_And I hope you never have to. But if you do, remember this. True courage is about knowing, not when to take a life, but when to spare one._

 

Gandalf's words echoed in her mind, flickering amongst memories of blood and pain and the light of life slowly fading from someone's eyes.

 

There was a sudden shift, the forest putting aside its peaceful clarity, a rush and a turmoil erupting, hushed noises in the air. _Something's coming._

 

 _Stay together._ Gandalf's command came clear and strong, and her feet began to move expertly amongst the unsteady forest ground. _Hurry now._ She never drew her sword, yet turned as Bilbo remained still, eyes fixed on his.

 

Only when he began to move, hurrying after the rest of the group with quick steps, did she turn, quickly catching up, Gandalf leading the way through the thick growth. With each step, though, the rumbling noise that reverberated through the woods grew louder.

 

Her hand shot to her sword a mere second before the source of the noise broke through the bushes, yet she never drew it much further than past the hilt.

 

 _Radagast. Radagast the Brown._ The man in their midst, blending in with the forest around in a rather odd way, looked just as confused as the rest of their company. _What on Earth are you doing here?_

 

-

 

Her fingers lined the riddled bark of a tree, tracing carve by carve, ridge by ridge.

 

_The Greenwood is sick. A darkness has fallen over it._

 

The smell of the forest flooded her nostrils, her eyes closed. Rich, green, full of life and the inevitable end of it. A never ending circle of decay and birth.

 

_Spiders, Gandalf. Giant ones._

 

A shiver ran down her spine, yet her eyes remained closed. More than ever was she aware of the heart beating inside her chest, so strongly, so perfectly timed and shaped and set.

 

_A dark power dwells in there._

 

The heels of her feet dug deeply into the dry earth and crunching leafs, cracking branches and soft moss that covered the ground in a layer so tightly webbed, there never seemed to be a pattern, yet it worked so in harmony with everything else growing under the canopy that sheltered it from the rays of sunlight.

 

_A necromancer has come._

 

Her breathing had faded, and she almost forgot the need of it until her lungs began to burn. Harder and harder did she attempt to focus on the roughness of bark that ran beneath her palm. Yet the fragments of the two wizard's conversation that fluttered through the air became nearly impossible to ignore.

 

She felt it then. Black and ice cold. Chilling the very blood in her veins. Death. Shooting down her spine like the blade of a knife slicing through her skin. Eyes shot open, and she turned to see the dull blade, reflecting no light.

 

_That is not from the world of the living._

 

A howl, bloody as the teeth-riddled mouth from which it came, burst through the silence.

 

 _Was that a wolf? Are there wolves out there?_ All eyes wandering, every leaf now no more a shelter, but a threat.

 

 _Wolves? No that is not a wolf._ It happened so quickly then. Her sword in her hand. Kili's arrow rushing through the air. Foul snarls and savage growls. The smell of blood mingling with the sound of metal soaring though the air.

 

_Warg scouts. Which means an orc pack is not far behind._

 

The wretched scar that riddled her thigh burned in her memory once more. It had been too long since she had crossed paths with orcs, and the violence that still gleaming in the dead eyes of the beast – wide open and staring, blaming, killing even though they were no longer capable of it – foreshadowed no good.

 

_Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?_

 

_No one._

 

_Who did you tell?_

 

 _No one, I swear._ She looked up at Gandalf, and in this moment felt their quest shift. This was no longer about lost gold and robbed homeland. It was darker, vengeance and terror seeping into the contract she had had no need to sign. _What in Durin's name is going on?_

 

_You are being hunted._

 

 


	15. what you chose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Piece by Piece by Katie Melua.

 

**XV. _just remember, this is what you chose_**

 

 _Come on._ In a hurried pace, Gandalf lead them on across dry grass and spiky rocks, wide planes coming with no sign of life. Still, the far off growling and the rumble she felt underneath her feet as the ground shook with the chase, told a story of death. And where there was death, there was always life.

 

For a short moment, they came to a halt, overlooking the vast country laying ahead of them, the orcs on the wargs chasing Radagast in the distance. _Stay together_. Gandalf's command came less steady than she had expected, and the worry on his features only pushed her legs faster as they continued. It was not fear that pushed her further, although all her life she had spent telling herself that fear, in any shape or form, was neither reason nor excuse for shame. It was an instinct that surged through her veins, an ancient mechanism to ensure her survival.

 

They were too many to remain secret for much longer, and she knew it was what caused Gandalf's worry. No matter where she looked, someone was always there, armour, coat, fur and axes flashing into her vision. On her own, it was easier to find a place to hide, some niche to disappear into.

 

A few feet ahead, just as they neared the far end of a large rock, she saw Thorin abruptly coming to a stop, his arm bursting out to hold Ori back, a dwarf's run not as easily halted as her own. Following his command, their company stumbled to a stop in the shadow of the rock.

 

 _Come on. Quick._ Gandalf's voice was quieter now, as if he grew more and more cautious with each breath, and she met his eyes for a brief moment as he watched the dwarves quickly picking up speed once more. Thorin, too, waited until the rest of the company was back on their quick feet, and suspicion crept into his eyes, mingling there with concern.

 

 _Where are you leading us?_ Gandalf gave him no answer, instead rushing quickly to move on. As she began to catch up with the group, a vague shadow of knowledge tingled at the base of her skull. The vast planes scattered with rocks and dying grass, it was all too familiar. If she was right, and despite her impeccable memory she regarded her theory with doubt, she knew where the wizard was leading them.

 

As they continued chasing through the wilderness, her eyes flickered towards Thorin, on edge and looking out to make sure everyone stayed together. If her assumption of Gandalf's motives was right, she saw no good outcome of this dreadful situation, whether they would escape their hunters or not.

 

All of them pressing once more against the side of a large, stretched out rock, yet another growl ruptured through the air. Yet, this time, it was much more quiet, yet so much closer, like a breath of chilly air striving past a bare neck.

 

They all knew, and she could feel the dark presence looming on top of the rock, only mere seconds away from discovering them. If they were to be discovered now, hunched against this rock, they would barely stand a chance. From her peripheral vision, she saw Thorin giving a silent order to Kili, and as he stepped forward with his bow ready to kill, her own hand grasped determinedly for her sword.

 

Terrible sounds ruptured through the air, a wail of pain and death as the foul, reeking creature fell to the ground in front of them, Kili's arrow piercing its neck. Yet, too quickly, the orc riding the warg, as well as the injured creature, were on their feet, as lethal as they were made to be. It was Dwalin who attacked first, axe soaring through the air, hitting flesh with a terrible echo.

 

With a single stride, her own sword silenced the weakened warg, and as it fell heavily back onto the ground, she could feel the life draining of it, blood as dark as the night sky dripping from the tip of her blade.

 

For a moment she stood, watching the blood soaking into the dry earth beneath her feet. Then she felt it. A shift, a tremble in the ground, like a quake that grew and grew, louder and louder. The creature's wail had betrayed them.

 

 _Move. Run!_ There was no more caution to Gandalf's voice as he shouted, each and every one of them rushing past him, _away_ , yet nowhere to go as they ran. Always forward, never daring to look behind, to look death in the eye.

 

Large rocks gave way for smaller ones, trees popping out of the ground, creating a deathly circle around them as they felt their hunters approaching, heard their cries growing louder.

 

 _This way, quickly!_ She knew now, knew exactly where they were. Too many times had she wandered these parts of the wilderness in her younger years, had sneaked away to escape the melancholy that surrounded her mother like a veil of shadow.

 

It was then that the first orc appeared in their sight, the leader of the group, judging from his large armour. They all stopped their sprint, caught in a circle like animals, surrounded by their hunters.

 

_There's more coming!_

 

She scanned her surroundings quickly, more and more wargs appeared behind grass-covered hills. Fingers tightening around the handle of her sword, her eyes met Gandalf's. Their only escape, the only hope they had now, lay right behind him, a long buried memory of her childhood, plain and wide in the open, as if no secret lay beneath it. She nodded, and watched as Gandalf rushed over to the alignment of rocks, that, and she remembered tight passageways and cold stone, bore the secret passage to the one place she had once called home.

 

 _Where is Gandalf?_ No one else seemed to have taken notice of where Gandalf had gone, and she suddenly found herself too far away from the rest of the group, scattered amongst the small clearing, to give an answer that would not betray their one and only chance to make it out of this disaster alive. _He's abandoned us._

 

She hurried to make her way closer to the others, not losing sight of the rock behind which Gandalf had disappeared.

 

 _Hold your ground!_ She stopped shortly before the secret passage, Thorin's deep voice rumbling through the air. For the first time, she truly saw in him the warrior he was. Fearless, strong, a leader born with much more promise than he yet had the chance to prove.

 

The growling in the air would not cease, and she wondered how many more wargs were approaching them with fatally quick strides, the ground beneath her feet still shaking. As she found Bilbo standing merely a few feet away from her, she hurried towards him, not willing to leave him unprotected when he was the sole member of their company unsoiled by the terror of death and kill.

 

 _This way, you fools!_ Gandalf's words coming from behind her were the relief she had longed for, and she turned to see him disappearing back behind the smaller rock that lay in the shadow of a much larger one, guarding the entrance she had taken so many times.

 

Thorin marched on top of it quickly, eyes never straying from their many enemies that drew their circle around them tighter. _Quickly, all of you!_

 

Bilbo slipped down the steep rock right in front of her, and she found herself lightly back on her feet before the hobbit had scrambled back on his own.

 

The growls grew louder, and she could hear the wargs increasing their pace, terror in the air now that their prey was disappearing one by one. She stood as closely to the edge of the small cave as possible, sunlight still hitting her skin, watching helplessly as Thorin slew one of the wargs, shouting Kili's name.

 

Behind her, Gandalf was frantically counting those who were already in the safety of the cave. As Thorin slid down last, she felt a minuscule bit of tension leave her body. Taking quick steps away from the cave's entrance, the clear sound of a horn suddenly echoed through the air.

 

She knew the sound, had heard it countless times before. A shiver ran down her spine, like a memory forced upon her with the force of a tidal wave.

 

Battle sounds erupted, and she rushed backwards as one of the orcs stumbled across the edge of the rock that protected the entrance, rolling down towards their feet. He moved not even a bit, the arrow that pierced his neck having done its merciless duty. She could feel the ground shaking above them even more, retreat and circling, quicker steps growing further and further away.

 

 _Elves._ Thorin eyed the arrow he had pulled out of the dead orc, and the sound of his voice sounded as grim as the blood that coated the thin yet lethal stick. He looked almost disgusted as he smashed it to the ground.

 

_I can not see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or not?_

 

_Follow it, of course._

 

One by one, the dwarves made their way to the back of the cave, a small ray of light marking the corner behind which she knew what to expect. _I think that would be wise._

 

Gandalf's words were muttered mostly, and she met his eyes briefly as she followed the others. She was not sure how wise it truly was, yet she knew also that he must have seen signs of the quarrel that upset her mind.

 

The promise of a peaceful night of sleep and the sheer fact that they really were approaching the only real chance to find answers to their questions, were reason enough to take the road they were about to go on.

 

Yet... Her heart was full of darkness as she took slow steps, fear dripping into her soul like the dark blood on the edge of her blade that left a fading trail behind her every step she took.


	16. killing in time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Telling Lies by Great Northern.

 

**XVI. _bending backwards to look behind, pushing forward, killing in time_**

 

She awoke in the early hours of dawn, when the fire had diminished and the first light of day began to break through the roof of trees. Something soft brushed her cheek, tickling the tender skin. With a deep inhale, her eyes fluttered open.

 

A heavy coat covered her undressed body, the thick line of fur at the top being what brushed against her cheek. Where the fire had burned brightly a few hours before, now only a faint glim remained, and the warmth granted by the large coat was more than welcome to her.

 

Yet her eyes remained focussed on something else than the dying fire or the tint of orange that coloured the sky. Thorin moved quietly a few feet away, clasping his belt, securing his tunic, pulling his dark hair back.

 

_Were you going to leave me naked in the wilderness without even a word of warning?_

 

**. . . .**

 

The walk along the narrow path, hidden below high rock, did not take them long, what little sunlight reached the ground still deeply yellow and full of the promise of summer.

 

Her hands trailed the cool stone on either side of her as she walked on, like a cave that chained her in, tighter and tighter the closer they came to reaching their destination. She could hear the faint rush of water long before she knew they were close. With each step, her heart grew heavier, not daring to look up, her eyes following the reluctant movement of her feet.

 

Yet, she knew there was no escape, no backing away. Not any more. Not now. And when the light suddenly changed, the sunlight not squeezed through a tight crack in the rock any more but free to shine upon all grounds, everyone in front of her started to slow down. It seemed much darker, as if a lot more time had passed than she thought, yet she knew the illusion of light was never to be trusted.

 

 _The Valley of Imladris._ For the first time in over two centuries, her eyes fell upon the walls and pillars of the one home she had once had. Where she was born. Where all had come and gone and sadness clasped hands with harmony. _In the common tongue it is known by another name._

 

_Rivendell._

 

. . . .

 

She smiled at him as he turned over towards her, a dishonest smile that never reached her heart. Sitting up slowly, fingers wrapped securely around the hem of the coat – his coat – she felt the cold of the night begin to seep into her bones.

 

 _Of course not._ He spoke quietly, the world still asleep around them, invisible threats moving through the darkness like shadows of smoke.

 

He most likely spoke the truth, would not have left her vulnerable and unprepared. Yet, the quiet manner of his actions only proved that even this night had changed nothing, that they were still as far apart as they had been all those years ago in a dusty smithy in a town, of which she could not even recall the name.

 

 _I am not some woman you picked up in a town inn._ He had left her that first night, in a cold room with the fire burning like her skin after his touch. _Who dreams of flowers and cosy fireplaces and expects you to marry her after spending the night together._ She had left him that night years ago, when their paths had crossed against all reason in this far stretched world. _You can say farewell to me, and I will not come running after you._

 

Her words, as softly spoken as they were, seemed like daggers in the dark, and he merely stared at her for a long moment. There was a twitch of his brow, eyes darkening for the flicker of a heartbeat before he sighed.

 

_I know you are not._

 

. . . .

 

The memory of the last time her eyes had rested upon the halls of her childhood was burning brightly in her mind, like a single flame in a room darkened by drawn curtains, heavy and immobile, resistant to the breeze of day. It looked as if not a day had gone by since, the passing of time as powerless over this valley as it was over her own tireless skin.

 

 _This was your plan all along._ Thorin's eyes remained fixed upon her for a moment, while his words were directed at Gandalf. There seemed an edge of darkness behind the clear, dark blue. As if she had kept a secret from him that was not hers to tell. _To seek refuge with our enemy._ Once more, his eyes fell upon her. Her. Always, in his eyes, the conclusion of all his troubles, the personification of his hatred for a race to which she barely belonged. A scapegoat, never to be forgiven deeds she had not committed, blood she had never shed impossible to wash off her hands.

 

 _You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself._ Gandalf's words seemed to echo in her mind, seemed to wind an invisible rope between herself and Thorin, their eyes never straying.

 

. . . .

 

 _Where are you headed to?_ His hand reached out to brush against what little skin of her own escaped the shelter of his coat, calloused fingers drawing mindless patterns as he carefully studied her face.

 

 _East. What about you?_ She could not bear to hold his gaze, looking down upon their hands together, almost shy and innocent in the dim light.

 

 _West. I must return to my kin._ His lips found her forehead, a kiss that lingered not long enough for a rush of breath to escape her lips. _We could stay together until we reach the edge of the forest._

 

The heavy coat dropped, revealing bare skin glowing in the light of dawn, and her arm reached out. He remained as immobile as stone as her hand came to rest against his cheek, his beard coarse beneath her skin as she felt the beating of his heart. _We might._

 

. . . .

 

 _Which is why you will leave the talking to me._ She had paid no attention to Gandalf's words, hoping instead for the mercy of finally moving on. If she was to return, to take this step she had danced around and avoided like burning coals for such a very long time, she longed for it to be over. _Elrénia, I think it might be wisest if you walked ahead with me._

 

She looked up, knowing that nothing but resentment was mirrored in her eyes in this moment, a sense of dread and fear too strong to contain.

 

 _If that is what you deem best._ She turned then without waiting, strong steps amongst strong stone, along streaming water as clear as diamonds, blending out the muffled words and hushed whispers behind her, feeling the burn of Thorin's gaze prickling at the base of her neck.

 

. . . .

 

The sun shone brightly in the East, not a cloud in the sky to spoil the blue canvas that held it. They stopped in their tracks slowly as the last line of trees fell behind them, and the rays of sunlight touched their faces.

 

 _So, this is where we part?_ Her words were quiet, yet a sense of calm and clarity seeped from them.

 

_I suppose._

 

 _I doubt we shall ever meet again._ A small fragment of her words felt like a lie, the fact that he had found her when she remained hidden from the world all her life enough to give her a sense of hope. Hope that was so devilish. That held no promise.

 

Suddenly, he stood so much closer to her than she recalled, his face a mere breath apart from her own. There was no pain to be seen in her eyes, and she saw nothing but a dead stare in his as they stood. Still as the long years of their lives had taught them, quiet as the night they had now left behind.

 

_It is for the best._

 

She never replied to his words. They breathed for a long time, sunlight dancing among the gold of her hair as time passed mercilessly, their eyes drawing in closer and closer, yet never close enough.

 

She wondered briefly, before she broke in a hoarse whisper, if she could stare into the darkness of his soul if he came any closer. _Farewell._ Perhaps she only needed to look into her own.

 


	17. all we own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Turn to Stone by Ingrid Michaelson.

 

**XVII. _our souls are all we own before we turn to stone_**

 

She could feel many pairs of eyes pinned on her back as they followed Lord Elrond up delicate stairwells and winding trails through open halls flooded with the warm shine of the afternoon sun. Eyes drawn to her like moths to a flame, like they had been one cold winter's day centuries ago, when she had walked away from this place with the intention never to return.

 

 _It has been a long time, Elrénia._ There was no emotion evident on Lord Elrond's face, a porcelain mask she was grateful to carry herself in moments like this. A thin web spindled of lies and pretences, courtesy and hospitality, tearing at the seams where broken memories began to bite and freeze.

 

 _Long indeed._ Yet everything seemed so dreadfully familiar. She could see her mother's face, void of any joy or light, behind every pillar, wandering between each tree, watching over the banister of each balcony as the wind ruffled the soft layers of her dress.

 

 _I must admit it an unexpected company to find you amongst._ She could see Lindir's head twitching ever so slightly at the words, eyeing the company that followed them. Her own head tuned, the dwarves taking in their surrounding with caution and suspicion. _If there is ever a need, you know you are welcome here. Always._

 

Without a moment of hesitation, her eyes met those of Lord Elrond. Two pairs of eyes neither weathered nor altered by the passing of time. _What need would that be?_

 

No spite or anger coated her words, nevertheless, Gandalf was quick to intervene, putting the orc pack that had forced them into this valley back into the centre of everybody's attention. His eyes fell on hers for a mere fracture of a second, reprove and disappointment lining the grey pools, weathered by lifetimes and lifetimes lived in this world while her own heart seemed set in stone.

 

. . . .

 

**sixty years later**

 

 _I'm dying, Gandalf._ He words slipping past her lips making it real. The pulsating pressure of her heart beating in her chest more evident than ever. The finality of it.

 

Disappointment in deep, grey eyes. _You gave up, then._

 

_What is there to give up? Loneliness? Grief? Solitude?_

 

_You see the world as such a hopeless place._

 

 _It is, Gandalf._ Memories of blood coating her hands and life leaving blue eyes. _To me, it is._

 

 _He loved you._ Three words spoken with more care than any other. _And if love is not the core of all hope, then I do not know what is._

 

A truth she fought with every single day of her existence. A truth never proven. _He never said it. Never, not once. And while I should like very much to believe that he simply was not ready, you and I both know he never would have uttered those words, not had he lived for a thousand years._

 

The echo of her words clinging heavily to the silence that followed. _It is time to let him go._

 

 _I let him go. I let him go so many times._ The delicate chain around her neck biting into her skin. _And I am tired of it. I am so tired._

 

. . . .

 

She ate in silence, paying no attention to the dwarves complaining about the lack of proper food, the soft melodies that flooded the warm evening breeze, or the conversation between Elrond, Gandalf and Thorin at the other table that she could not drown out entirely.

 

Instead, her eyes wandered, never seeming to find peace, trying to catch old memories like smoke as they slipped through her fingers.

 

 _You do not seem to feel very much at home._ Balin had leaned in closely for his words to remain private, meant for her ears only. Until now, they had not exchanged much more than a few words since their journey's begin. In fact, she had not spoken much to any other member of their company, for none of them seemed eager to talk to her. Not once did she blame them, yet she could not help the surprise at Balin's compassionate, sincerely concerned words.

 

_This is not my home._

 

_Thorin mention that this is where you were born._

 

Her eyes fell upon the back of Thorin's head, and she wondered what else he had spoken about. _I do not believe the places we come from are always necessarily our home. Neither are the places we go to always the ones we are meant to be._

 


	18. all of your mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Hope You Found It Now by Jason Walker.

 

**XVIII. _the burdens that you carry and all of your mistakes_**

 

A deep sigh left her lungs, the relief washing over her body as if she had held it for weeks. Perhaps she had, she wondered, walking over towards the delicately woven bannister of the balcony. The night seemed much lighter than out in the wild, as if the stars shone brighter in this valley, clearer. Like diamonds pinned against a veil of sapphire.

 

A soft breeze, cool, yet still rich with the last remains of warmth left by the passing day, washed over her as she stopped. Her hands fell from the bare skin of her arms which the soft tunic revealed, fingers clasping around the smooth bannister as she looked up into the night sky. The valley lay spread out beneath her, with all its winding stairs and waterfalls, hidden paths and trails she knew like the back of her hand, yet felt so estranged from, as if they were the mere debris of a wicked childhood dream.

 

She was glad for the bath and the soft clothes that hugged her skin, clean now from all blood, sweat and dirt. Yet, her eyes fell closed, fading memories of hummed lullabies echoing in her mind like waves breaking against shore far, far away, too much to bear, tearing her apart.

 

A curt knock on the door to her room pulled her out of the eerie dwelling, and she turned in time to see the white door opening slowly, almost hesitantly. Thorin, rid now of his armour, eyed the room as he leaned against the open door, and her eyes could easily detect a lack of tension in his demeanour, even in the dimness of the night.

 

_You look as if you bring good news. Could Lord Elrond help?_

 

Thorin nodded, yet moved not an inch away from the door. _He read the map. It were moon runes._

 

Riddles in the dark. Flashes of memories of hidden treasure and secret maps, rolls of parchment glooming in the night, written words that spoke of magic and wonder. _What did they say?_

 

 _Where the entrance is, and when we can find it. But I shall explain it all when we are together with the rest of our company. They all must know._ Nodding in agreement, her fingers laced around the wrist of her other arm. Thorin's eyes flickered down towards the small movement, his eyes lingering on her pale skin, glowing in the moonlight. _You look..._

 

His words faded of into the night, mingling with the rush of distant water falls and the breeze softly upsetting trees. The way his eyes took her in spoke of how little they truly knew each other. Never had he seen her like this, a pale figure against starlight.

 

_There was something else you wanted to say, was there not?_

 

He nodded, eyes finally straying from her, and he seemed almost afraid to speak, his words unusually incredulous and slow. _We are packing up. We shall leave before the sun rises_. A heavy pause, and he looked up with a sinister mingle of hope and fear reflecting in his blue eyes. _Unless you wish to stay._

 

_Why would I wish to stay?_

 

For a short while, Thorin seemed to take her in completely, looking as if he was analysing her every word and movement. Eventually, and she was sure he had found no answer to whatever question hadnlingered on the tip of his tongue, he stepped fully into the small room, closing the door behind him.

 

 _I do not belong here any more than you do, never forget that._ A sense of bitterness and apathy interwoven into her words as she watched Thorin walk towards her. With each step he took the stars and the bright moon began to illuminate him more and more.

 

 _It might be your chance._ His words softer than expected, almost encouraging as he stepped around the large chair, lined with blankets so soft and so delicately woven that they moved in the calm breeze like evanescent waves on a clear lake on a spring day.

 

 _No._ Her own hope, if there had ever been any, long lost. Scattered along the forests of this world, caught in branches and forgotten in the light of the fire. _I do not think so._

 

He stood next to her on the balcony then, the mild wind brushing through his dark hair, so much darker than the night sky. There was a hint of something unknown to her in his eyes, blending with the countless twinkles of the stars that surrounded them.

 

As his hand reached out slowly, fingers catching a strand of her hair, now flowing freely down her back, she closed her eyes. His touch lingered, fingertips following the trail laid out by the golden strand down her neck, over her collarbone, skipping her chest to brush a delicate path along the bare skin of her lower arm.

 

 _It was the first thing I noticed about you._ Thorin whispered the words, as if speaking them out loud was a betrayal, an unspoken deed never to be undone, an admittance of something they both knew stood between them like a wall of flames. _All those years ago when you stepped into that smithy._

 

 _My hair?_ She opened her eyes, only to see him standing so much closer than before, every line that time had carved into his skin clear for her to see, the first streaks of grey that ran through his hair almost like silver in the moonlight.

 

He nodded slowly, so barely that it was hard even for her to see. _As if it were liquid. Like gold, but so much brighter._ His hand still lingered against her wrist, where her hair tickled the bare skin, yet his touch was what burned her, left its mark. Yet another she would never live to see healed.

 

Her eyes fluttered shut, the pull of his breath and whisper too strong, and she knew they were merely a breath apart, her skin tingling, a shiver running down her spine.

 

 _Get some rest._ She could almost taste his words on her lips, the warm dampness of his breath soaking her skin. _You know the mountains. It will not be an easy journey._

 

She never opened her eyes, focussed only on his steps as he walked away, the soft thud as the door fell closed behind him, and the song of the night, and the echo of memories, took over once more.

 

. . . .

 

**sixty-four years earlier**

 

They would meet again, and while seven bitter winters had passed, and seven summers had stretched across the world in golden brightness since they had parted at the edge of the forest in the shade of the trees, she knew she had not changed.

 

Her hair was no longer, no thinner, nor less bright than it had been the night his hands had run through it with awe, her eyes were no bluer nor lined darker than when she had walked away from him with a heavy heart, her body no leaner nor littered with scars than when his calloused palms had lined each inch of her pale skin.

 

One thing had changed, however, and it was that it was neither his intention nor fate drawing them together now. It was her own will that lead her further into the Blue Mountains than ever before.

 

After the many years that had passed with no sign of him but the memories in her mind, and the endless wondering if he would reappear in her life as unexpectedly as he had before, it had been too easy to find him. She knew many people in many towns, many whose company she did not value, but whose expertise could, when the time came, be of tremendous advantage. And to locate Thorin Oakenshield had proven to be an easy task.

 

Her motives swam in a blur in the back of her mind, and she found herself to blame for taking this journey, for getting involved in business that was of no concern to her, that should be laid to rest or be watched from afar as it unfolded.

 

Instead, she stood motionlessly behind the brick wall that lined the town of men, almost abandoned these days, a sight of decay and dread as time took its toll on it.

 

While she had no need to be loyal to anyone in the wild, she sensed an aura of betrayal within her actions. She knew, or at least was so very sure that her skin prickled at the thought, something Gandalf did not, something he was so utterly in the dark about. She had had a chance to tell him of her suspicion, of what she knew, deep in her heart, to be true. And yet she had remained silent, had kept the truth from the man who had only ever treated her with respect and kindness, unlike so many others she had met in her life.

 

Dusk was taking over the world quickly, a heavy silence roaming across the land with the wave of darkness that began to settle. Footsteps approached her in the shadow, slow and deliberate against the dry path that lined the woeful town, footsteps which her treacherous heart remembered too well.

 

_What is all this about?_

 


	19. secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from What Difference Does It Make? by The Smiths.

 

**XIX. _all men have secrets and here is mine_**

 

A faint red tint clouded the early morning in an aura of anxiety, the prospect of the journey still ahead of them heavy in the summer air. Even though the sun was not yet to be seen in its entirety, they were already leaving Rivendell behind. Steadily, they marched the way they had come, not even the night of rest sufficient to erase the tired weariness on their faces.

 

Elrénia turned her head only once, feeling neither pain nor sadness at departing the valley, merely dreading the immense unease at the necessity to leave behind Gandalf for the time being. It seemed to be the entirely wrong moment, a shadow looming in her mind as her eyes fixed on the sun peeking out from behind the wall of rock that sheltered Rivendell. There were more dangers ahead of them than lay behind, and the rising sun only brought a blood red sky, a glooming threat of where their journey was going to take them.

 

 _Are you sure you do not wish to stay?_ Thorin's words came unexpectedly, and she tore her gaze away from the running waterfalls, reflecting the red sky like blood sparkling on a silver knife at the first light of day.

 

 _I am._ There was no doubt, not a flicker of hesitation, and yet there seemed an invisible tie to this valley. Perhaps it were the many memories that were so intimately interwoven with this place, perhaps a long buried sense of guilt for leaving it behind. She did not know and it was not, or never, the time to dwell on the turmoil Thorin's words had set in motion in her mind. _There is no place for me here._

 

His gaze was more strict than it had been the night before, the tenderness highlighted by the moonlight now long gone, replaced by stone and authority. Yet, as he spoke, there seemed more compassion to his words than before, as if, even if only for a moment, they were at peace with each other, with the past, with words never to be taken back and lies never to be forgiven. _It is your choice._

 

_I have made my choice long ago._

 

. . . .

 

**sixty-four years earlier**

 

 _What is all this about?_ He stood not far away from her, face obscured by the growing darkness, even to her eyes, a broad silhouette against the greying horizon in the East.

 

 _You came._ Perhaps she had hoped for the opposite, for her vague message to get lost, for him to not trust it, for what reason did he have to trust in her? What sense did it make that she had asked him here, a three day journey from his makeshift homeland, at the fall of night, over seven years since they had last met, since they had whispered words of what was best?

 

 _Would you care to explain to me why you summoned me to this place?_ He had taken a few deliberate steps forward, enough for her eyes to take him in. She would not have needed to see the suspicion glaring in his eyes. The way he carried himself, slow and determined, told her enough of his attitude to straighten her own back and take a deep breath. _Ominous message, meeting at nightfall. All that demands an explanation._

 

He looked different, for the first time since they had met, in a way that stood out like a single star in the night sky. His clothes were finer, less heavy, more suitable for travel than what she had seen on him before. The long strands of his hair were partially braided, small rings and reflection of silver shining in the moonlight, delicate beadings and patterns layering upon his clothes.

 

 _I have news._ Her words slow and quiet, a whisper as night fell. _About your father._

 

. . . .

 

Thorin was ahead of the group as Rivendell fell further and further behind. _Be on your guard_.

 

She turned to look one last time before the hidden passage would rob them of any view upon this valley. _We are about to step over the edge of the wild._

 

She wondered, like the last time she had taken this very path, if she would ever lay eyes on this place again. _Balin, Elrénia, you know these paths. Lead on._

 

Her head turned towards Thorin as a few other heads turned towards her. For the first time, he had addressed her in front of their company, had proven that, despite everything dark and painful lingering between them, he trusted in her skills.

 

She only nodded as she stepped ahead where Balin was waiting for her, a kind smile upon his grey face. Passing Thorin, their eyes locked for a moment, and he nodded, as if in response to silent words that had not passed her lips. An inaudible thank you. Gratefulness and peace that could only be seen in her eyes, and only by those who knew the true depth of their usual sadness.

 

. . . .

 

 _My father?_ He stopped in his tracks, his eyes, although already as blue as the night sky, shining in the darkness. _What is it? Tell me._ His voice rose when she remained quiet, the distance between them only increasing the fear that had threatened to pull her further and further away as she had travelled here.

 

 _He..._ Gandalf's words burned into her memory like a fiery blaze, her knowledge just as certain. Yet, standing in front of Thorin, she could not bring herself to speak the truth. To tell him what she knew he deserved to know. _I am not fully certain. Perhaps I should not have come at all._ Turning her head towards the edge of the forest, her legs tingled with the desire to simply walk away. Walk away like he had done before, like they did again and again. Would one last time truly hurt? Truly do any more damage?

 

 _You have summoned me here, now tell me everything you know._ The mention of his father had set lose something inside of Thorin that she had missed until now, a lack of control, an almost youthful level of worry and curiosity, the fear of a son for his father, equal in all, no distinction between a warrior, a prince, or a little boy afraid of the dark.

 

 _It would only..._ What would happen if she told him what Gandalf had told her? Of the dead dwarf whom she was sure was Thrain, of the map and key, of the lost son Gandalf did not know how to find. _No._

 

They might not have known each other well, might only have spent a few solitary hours in each other's company, might only have exchanged very little words of small importance in comparison to the grander scheme at work. Yet, Thorin seemed to sense when her own cowardice and fear began to pull her away from him. He closed the distance between them in two strides before she had a chance to even turn away.

 

 _No._ He never reached out, never laid a hand on her. It was the mere sound of his voice that froze her, and she looked up into his eyes, into the abyss of her own destruction. _You will tell me now._

 

. . . .

 

Wide expanses of landscape lay behind them, rocks and fields, paths and boulders, the first outlines of the mountains ahead, loneliness in its grandest form.

 

Her legs carried her tirelessly, eyes wide open, taking in every rock and every crevice, ears alert to each breath of the wind. No matter how many times she walked these paths, far away from any other living soul, the danger of it, all its hidden threats and lethal traps, never failed to tense her whole body, never straying, never blinking for a second too long.

 

Their feet slowed down as they stumbled upon a small field of rocks, drawing together into a narrow pathway, almost impossible to master on foot. Grumbling and moaning echoed amongst the rocks that lined the path, white-washed stone from melted snow slippery beneath their feet.

 

Only for a short while did they stumble until the rocks beneath their feet turned to pebbles and earth, and the path took a sharp turn. She came to a stop as it opened to a wide cliff, overlooking a small valley, the impressive hight of the mountains they were to master right in front of them.

 

 _That truly is an eye opener._ Her eyes fell on Bilbo, eyes and mouth wide open in astonishment. For a moment, she attempted to see the mountains through the hobbit's eyes, in all their glory, tall and strong and immortal, covered in deep fog, never seeing sunlight.

 

 _The Misty Mountains._ It was in vain, the coldness and harshness of what lay ahead of them taking over her mind.

 

_You do not look very content._

 

A sigh, her eyes meeting Balin's as he came to a halt by her side. _Let it be said they are not amongst my dearest places in this world._

 

 _Why?_ One by one, the others stepped out of the narrow path onto the cliff, and she did not need to turn to feel the awe and fear that was undoubtedly etched upon their faces.

 

_They are old. Old as time. And savage. The sort of place you avoid when you can._

 

_And we can not?_

 

 _Not if we want to make it to Erebor in time. It is the quickest way. And it would be far more dangerous to take the long way around._ She tore her eyes away from the mountains to see deep worry in Bilbo's eyes. Regret for her words filled her heart. _Do not worry, Bilbo. It is a short journey. We will be on the other side in the blink of an eye._

 

As a small sigh of relief left Bilbo, her own eyes met Thorin's, her reassurance not unheard, deep lines under his eyes speaking all the words she did not dare to utter in front of the hobbit.

 

 _It would be wisest to wait for Gandalf here._ Her words were hushed, only meant for Balin and Thorin, yet she awaited no answer as she walked on, heading towards a dreary path leading down the cliff, snow beginning to fall upon the grey earth, a chill that seeped deeply into her bones.

 


	20. into the ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Feel It Now by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.

 

**XX. _I turn myself into an angel, I run myself into the ground_**

 

A consciousness inside of her, a deeply rooted instinct for the wandering of the world and the passing of time, told her that it was only late in the afternoon, yet the world around them had fallen into utter darkness, as if the deepest night had taken over.

 

It were the mountains that had robbed the world of all light and warmth. Here, confined within the high rock and deep snow, buried in the mist that gave them their name, lay a different world, darker and more savage, untouched by the sun.

 

The storm raging around them roared in the distance, thunder growling angrily as the rain hit hard, icy and unforgiving. She wondered how they all managed to drag themselves further along the narrow path that led along steep rock and sharp edges, always so close to the abyss that the urge to press her hands against the slippery rock was almost unbearable.

 

Thorin lead them on, yet even through the curtain of heavy rain could she see the exasperation on his features. It was in this moment that Bilbo lost his balance, slipping right out of her view in front of her. Her hand caught hold of his coat before even her eyes had followed his fall. Bofur pulled the hobbit back onto his feet, as her eyes focussed on the pitch black void that opened up beneath them.

 

 _We must find shelter._ Thorin's words lost in the roaring of the storm.

 

The world ended then. Or at least, for a moment, she felt as such. A thunder, louder than any she had ever head, Dwalin's voice yelling through the air, rock flying across the sky as if it were as light as feathers, breaking, crushing against the side of the mountain. Debris raining down on them like shards of glass, forcing them closer against the mountain side.

 

 _The legends are true._ The sky darkening even more with the shadow of something ancient and towering. _Giants. Stone giants._

 

It was a sight unlike any, and she found no memories to compare it to. The large figures moving against the dark sky, rain and debris clouding her vision, the ground shaking, the world threatening to open up and swallow them whole.

 

More rocks flew through the air, not small pieces but boulders larger than the houses that so miserably lined the villages of men. There was no way for them to seek refuge, only to press themselves more tightly against the wall of slick and sharp rock behind them.

 

Her ears were ringing from the unearthly noise, her eyes widening as the path they were all hunched together on began to open up, realization hitting her that they were not only caught in middle of a thunder battle, but now a part of it. They were moving against their will, her eyes quickly losing sight of the rest of the company as the world turned and twisted.

 

The platform they were standing on, poor Bilbo shivering violently by her side, was moving away from the others, further and further until they disappeared entirely, and she lost all sense of coordination. They were lost, lost within the roars and streams of deadly rock.

 

They were bearing witness to a war, barely able to hold their ground as they moved at rapid speed. Faintly, blurred by the rain and the speed, she made out the other half of their group on more solid ground. Too quickly her focus was returned on keeping her balance, on not falling into the void opened up before them, as deep as the world and as dark as the most starless of nights.

 

There was no time for fear, barely time to breathe, all her energy, all her focus, all her strength on simply remaining as still as she could amongst the rush and tearing of invisible arms pulling her forward, away from the scarce safety provided by the wall behind her.

 

For a moment, everything seemed to slow down, the rush turning into one smooth, languid move. Once her eyes could make out the reason, fear finally caught up, blood pulsing through her veins at rapid speed, heartbeat drumming inside her head. The giant on whom they were standing seemed to fall backwards, their small plateau now smoothly, but still rapidly racing forward, more and more towards the side of the mountain, formed of ancient, strong rock and riddled with sharp edges.

 

There was no way out, no way to evade the collision they were heading towards so rapidly. Closer and closer, until all she saw was rock and until the darkness swallowed her with one last cracking thunder.

 

. . . .

 

**sixty years later**

 

_I am so tired._

 

Grey eyes softening, almost fearful, taking in a level of respect and kindness reserved for those trapped in the valley of grief, as if he was walking with bare feet on a field of shattered glass.

 

_That Thorin died was a terrible business, but-_

 

Anger. Anger because, no matter how much wisdom there was to be found, no one ever understood.

 

 _It is not that he died, Gandalf. He was_ always _going to die. He was mortal._ Memories of time taking its toll on him. Lines around blue eyes, almost like scars. Grey streaks interwoven in black hair. _One day, he would have died. I always knew that. When the time came, he died brave. He died a hero._ Blood coating her hands. Knees shaking. Voice humming softly into his ear. _It is not that._

 

Her eyes falling closed, the weight of the sapphire against her reluctantly beating heart wearing her down. Hands taking hers.

 

_Then what is it that makes you want to give up your own life?_

 


	21. emptiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons.

 

**XXI. _when your eyes are red and emptiness is all you know_**

 

Her eyes shot open, seeing nothing but darkness for a moment. Cold rain drops biting deeply into her skin, the sudden promise of solid ground beneath her. Slowly regaining control of herself, she found herself crouched against the rock of the mountain, hands flat on the ground, supporting her weight as her breathing came in short, ragged gasps.

 

The noises of falling rocks and the raging storm were muted by a sharp ringing inside her head, so crystal clear that she felt as if her very mind was being cut in half. Somewhere, faintly in the distance, she could hear Thorin's voice, and the groans of her company.

 

As she pushed herself up onto her knees, her hand came to rest against her ear, instantly feeling the warmth of her own blood seeping thickly across her palm. Dropping her hand, her eyes rested on the crimson standing out against her pale skin, now feeling its trail across the side of her face and down her neck, mingling with the icy water pouring from the midnight black sky.

 

It took a moment before she balanced herself enough to stand, palm pressed flatly against the sharp rock, slipping as the blood left a gruesome print, only to be washed away by the streams of icy water, smearing it into grotesque lines.

 

 _Where's Bilbo?_ Her eyes instinctively shot to her other side, where Bilbo had been mere moments before. Yet, he was nowhere to be seen, her gaze met only by a sinister relief etched upon Thorin's features. _Where is the hobbit?_

 

Her legs began to tumble forward, shaky and unsteady, the ground littered with scattered debris, slippery from the downpour, her heart beating frantically within the confines of her chest.

 

 _There, he's there!_ While she could not see where Bofur was pointing at, it told her enough to see everyone lunging forward towards the slippery edge of the cliff.

 

 _Grab my hand!_ She could not get through, her heart still pounding furiously, pushing her forward, further and further, until she could see the top of Bilbo's head, and the abyss threatening to swallow him.

 

Thorin moved before she had noticed him near the edge, holding himself with one hand, stepping into nothingness to grab poor Bilbo. She saw something then, as she stumbled forward, bumping into legs and arms, her foot getting lodged between rocks and baggage. Something she had known was there all along, a will to sacrifice, a tendency towards valuing honour more than his own life. It had hoovered above him like a dark cloud for so many decades, and now it had burst, burst like the black sky, as Thorin pushed Bilbo back up into safety.

 

The rain, the clouds, groans of relief, it all turned silent abruptly as she watched his hold on the rock falter, his body slipping away, her own arms shooting forward aimlessly, his name escaping her lips in a rush of pure horror. _Thorin._

 

It was Dwalin who pulled him up, everyone's eyes fixed upon their leader, the man to be their king, the man willing to die for someone whom he had wished as far away from their quest as possible so many times. Her breathing came unevenly, and in harsh gasps as she sought him out within the crowd, his eyes evading hers. The rain was still washing streams of blood down her face and neck, the searing noise in her head returning now that her mind found the time to focus on it once more.

 

_I thought we lost our burglar._

 

She could barely keep her eyes open, the sharp pain throbbing behind them causing dark spots to cloud her vision, blood and rain catching hold in her lashes, threatening to spill into her eyes. Fighting to remain upright, she focussed on Thorin, towering above the company, scattered across the small space, shock and relief combined into horrifying masks. _He's been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come. He has no place amongst us._

 

She worried briefly about Bilbo, about his kind heart and the cruelty of Thorin's words, words she knew he could have directed at her. Yet, something inside of her – it might have been the searing pain and the smell of blood or the gut-wrenching image of Thorin dangling on the side of the cliff – focussed all her attention to remain on Thorin. He walked towards her, his eyes never even straying in her direction.

 

 _Thorin_. Her voice sounded small, more like a child than a woman.

 

 _Leave me alone._ Not a single glance, only three muttered words, loud enough for her to hear above the raging of nature surrounding them, yet too quiet for anyone else to notice. _Dwalin!_

 

-

 

The cave was cold, draughty, a cool chill humming through it like the distant echo of clinging swords. Not much could be heard of the raging storm, the mountain’s thick, ancient walls sheltering them from the outside world. Yet, it was the mountain itself that worried her, the faint smell of blood and death which would not leave her nostrils.

 

Her hands felt clammy as she continued to press the stained cloth to the side of her head, just above her temple. The pain the pressure caused, she barely recognized. The searing pain from earlier had faded a little now that she was sitting down, leaning against the cool, but moderately dry rock. Nothing felt more overwhelming in this moment than the need to close her eyes, find some rest, sleep away the pain. Yet, she knew she would find no rest in this place, not even daring to close her eyes longer than to blink.

 

The others were unpacking just enough to have a little comfort to sleep, the rummaging around her most welcome. In silence, she feared, the sharp ring, like knives, would return.

 

Carefully removing the cloth from her wound, she held it in front of her, inspecting the dark blood that had been soaked up. From the corner of her eye, she could see Thorin stepping towards her, but it was not until he sat down next to her that she really began to trust in what she was seeing.

 

 _Forgive me._ Quiet, a private apology in a cave filled with others. _I was harsh before._

 

The trail of pity in his voice echoed in her mind, fuelling the blood red rage that she carried, still, all she did was nod. Whether it was to accept his apology or to confirm his unjust way of treating her, she could not even uncover for herself. Pressing the cloth back against her head, her eyes remained fixed upon the wall opposite her. All she could see of Thorin was his dark coat, his legs stretched out next to her own.

 

 _You are bleeding._ Most of the blood had been washed away by the rain, while some coated her light hair.

 

_It is a scratch, really. Landed on my head._

 

 _Let me._ His hand reached out, but she recoiled, pushing herself away from him, not enough to draw attention to them, but just enough for his hand to still. It was only now that she finally looked up, and met his gaze. Hurt. She had hurt him. And while it was all he ever seemed to do to her, the pain that his own caused inside of her was excruciating. It was merely a poor excuse for comfort know he felt no different.

 

 _It is alright, Thorin._ A whisper, aware of the many eyes that might linger on them for a second too long, the many ears that might listen to words better left unspoken.

 

_No. No it is not._

 

He shook his head ever so slightly, and slowly reached his hand out once more, this time waiting for her to allow him to take care of her, even if it was only this short moment. A fleeting flicker of something they once might have had.

 

Gently, his fingers brushed against hers before she dropped her hand. She had always been fascinated by the tenderness of his calloused hands, and when he carefully pressed the cloth against her wound, she sighed, allowing the pain and exhaustion to wash over her.

 

 _It is not safe here._ She kept her words down so low, she could barely feel the vibrations of her voice, casting a worried glance towards the company, now settling for the night. Too many nightmares haunted her of these mountains, too many memories she longed to wipe away, too many scars left to tell bloodstained tales.

 

 _I know._ He had turned to face her completely, and without her knowledge, her own body had twisted, etching closer towards him. _I thought you were gone._ A rough whisper, spoken with the constricted throat only choked back tears could cause.

 

It pained her that his fear of losing her came as such a surprise, when, in a morbid way, she had always regarded her own death as Thorin's salvation. The ultimate and only answer to all their troubles. A world without her in it meant no pain, no conflict and no doubts for him. Only now that she saw the way he took her in did she realize what she had overlooked all this time. The fact that he might _miss_ her. That his world might be as incomplete without her in it as her own was without him.

 

 _So did I._ She sighed, losing herself in the moment, in the feeling of Thorin's hand brushing against her hair, the pain now only a faint echo. _Why did you jump after him?_

 

 _Because he is my responsibility. Like everyone else._ Her eyes drifted towards the others, Bilbo already lying down with his back towards them, breathing too unevenly to be asleep already. _Like you. Which is why it would have been my fault had you died._

 

_But I didn't._

 

His free hand came up to cup her cheek, warmth seeping into her every pore. _No, you did not._ She leaned into his touch as his whispered words burned themselves into her memory. One more painful memory to cling to until the long future granted to her would fade into darkness.

 

Faintly, Thorin's fingertip brushed her lips, causing a shiver to run down her spine. It was the look of longing, of memories flickering in his eyes that told her it was no accidental move. Her breath was shaking, her eyelids finally fluttering. Not from feeling secure, though. An act of self-preservation, of hiding the all too well known hurt that reflected in her eyes like the sun on the surface of the sea.

 

_And I am glad._

 

 


	22. we still remain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Birds of a Feather by The Civil Wars.

 

**XXII. _through it all we still remain_**

 

She could never quite recall what happened that night, once they had escaped the storm raging outside and sought refuge within the ancient stone walls of the mountain. Dimly, she could later recall forcing open her burning eyes as she lay restlessly next to Thorin, his hand reaching out in the night to keep her from squirming, the burning pain seeping through her head with each pump of blood causing violent images to flicker like lightening in her mind.

 

She knew she had fallen asleep, had given in to the exhaustion and the pain, powerless against it, despite the restlessness and instinctive fear. What happened after her eyes had fallen closed against her will, what followed after sleep took over, she could never quite put into coherent thoughts. The lines between nightmare and reality blurred whenever she attempted to puzzle together the flashes of memory. Slipping through her fingers like blood.

 

Screams as the ground shook. _Wake up!_ as someone pulled her roughly to her feet. Scrambling limbs as everything turned and the ground opened up in front of her. Hands clutching, her stomach turning as she fell into thin air, dark rock and the orange glow of fire flashing in front of her eyes. Falling.

 

A dull ache as she landed on rotten wood, trapped underneath limbs and bodies, groans surrounding her. There was nothing to be seen but dark rock and the hollowness of a large cave opening up beneath them.

 

The smell of death and burnt flesh prominent in the thick air, burning her lungs, almost impossible to breathe. Eyes fighting to remain open and alert, her head spinning as shrill screams echoed within the cave. Screams she had heard before, that twisted her insides.

 

Her hands fumbled briefly for her sword as the hoard of goblins came into view, disfigured and vile, yet she found no hold, fingers slipping off the hilt as friends and foes mingled around her. Snake-like arms grabbing her and pulling her away, bones knocking against each other, unwilling legs scraping across rock.

 

There was no chance for them, and she could sense it as they were chased and lead on, roughly driven across the narrow bridges like animals, doomed and lost. She could barely keep upright, the world swimming in blurred lines of blood and fire, sharp pain shooting through her body with each forced step. She could hear the others around her, being driven just like her, fighting in vain against the countless goblins. The stench of death pouring into her soul.

 

. . . .

 

**sixty-four years earlier**

 

 _You will tell me now._ His eyes held her in confines, unable to look away, yet almost crumbling to ashes beneath his penetrating gaze. _You have not summoned me here to simply walk away._

 

She had been so utterly sure of her intentions. So very sure that telling him what she suspected would be an honourable decision. Now, she knew she could not bear it.

 

 _There are rumours._ Thorin's piercing gaze eased ever so slightly once she spoke, voice kept down now that the night was falling upon them so rapidly. The night bore so many threats, caution and all senses on high alert whenever the sun began its decent. _Rumours that your father has been seen in the East._

 

There had never been rumours, only Gandalf's hushed words about a dying dwarf and his nameless son he needed to find. About a map and key to the ancient and lost kingdom, the shadow of which she knew was a heavy burden to carry by the last heir.

 

A brief shimmer of hope flickered across Thorin's features, illuminated now by the crisp mingle of the moon and last rays of sunlight disappearing behind the rough outline of the mountains. Then his face changed, twisting almost grotesquely as he took a step back. The simple movement caused her chest to swell with pain. He knew. Knew that she had not told him the truth, and for the first time, she had truly given him a reason to despise her. _You're a liar._

 

The weight of her betrayal seemed to pull him further and further away from her, his steps slow, feet scraping along the pebbles and dust that covered the path. To watch him retreat, stepping away from her in disappointment and disgust, awoke something inside of her she immediately longed to bury. It pained her to have hurt him. To be the cause of his pain.

 

 _Why did you really come?_ He halted after his last word had passed his lips, the new distance between them shaping into an abyss, one she knew no way across. She knew she owed him the answers she had come to give, yet no words passed her lips. What good would it do to light the flame of hope, when there was no knowing if it was true or false? There was no darker power in this world than false hope. She knew. She clung to it each day, its thorns rooted deeply in her skin, scratching her open while pushing her forward. It was impossible to tell him, to hurt him even more, to drag him into her own misery.

 

 _I love you._ The words had passed her lips so subconsciously, so very gently, that she was not sure in which tongue they had been spoken, and what force had possessed her lips to talk.

 

Thorin stared at her so calmly that she wondered if he had not heard her words at all, if her mind was fooling her, if she was caught in a dream without the promise of waking. His face hardened once more then, a shift so subtle it was almost swallowed by the growing dark. _Liar._

 

Even though her words had erupted out of her with no traceable origin, she knew they had been true. Knew she had carried them within her for such a long time, with no hope of ever letting them free.

 

Deliberate steps decreased the gap he had created between them, as if there were not enough hate and centuries of war keeping them apart. Her feet barely left the ground as she stepped closer towards Thorin, eyes never leaving his, holding him captive as he had done before.

 

She came to a slow halt in front of him, wondering why he had remained still, watching her every move with suspicion and curiosity alike. Her throat burned with tears she was biting back, fighting so very hard to remain the woman he knew. Standing strong and cool in a world riddled with darkness.

 

 _No._ The warmth of her whisper, shaking as she rested her palm against his cheek. Soft and gentle, broken and battered.

 

. . . .

 

The vast expanse of the cave which the goblins called their home was too cruel to take in, too violent, gory and horrifying. The pulsating pain in her head prevented her from looking up, and what little she could make out through the blurring of her vision was enough to make her want to close her eyes.

 

She could feel their capturers slowing down as they reached a platform, her breath shaky, her body fighting against the foul air.

 

Swords thrown onto the ground, her fingers tracing the empty sheath by her side.

 

 _Who would be so bold to come armed into my kingdom?_ A deep voice, sticky and deceitful. A creature she had only ever heard of in foul and nasty stories, a king without honour or dignity. _Spies? Thieves? Assassins?_

 

Her eyes fluttered closed, harsh voices, muffled protests and pointless shuffling becoming one with the constant siren echoing in her ears.

 

 _We found them on the front porch._ Leathery hands pulling her upright.

 

 _Don't just stand there, search them!_ Hands pushing underneath her coat, pulling her forward and sidewards, tilting her head and almost bringing her to her knees. _Every crevice!_ Groans of protest, bones knocking into her – whom they belonged to, she could not tell. _What are you doing in these paths?_ Only silence, heavy breathing and the drumming of her heart. _Speak!_ No answers. No voices raised. _Very well. If they won't talk, we'll make them squawk._

 

The cave erupted with life, morbid cheers echoing coldly amongst the black stone. _Bring up the mangler. Bring up the bone breaker. Start with the youngest._

 

 _Wait!_ Her eyes opened, panic shooting through her like pain as Thorin stepped forward.

 

 _Well, well, well. Look who it is._ She could feel fresh blood from her wound trailing down the side of her face in warm streams. _Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. King under the mountain._ Cruel laughter in the air, her heart wrenching painfully. All she could see as the goblin king bowed in mockery was Thorin's back, standing strong and proud. A king he was, a million times more than the one to whose feet he now stood. _Oh, but I'm forgetting, you don't have a mountain. And you're not a king. Which makes you... nobody, really._

 

Slowly, her senses came back to life, taking in her surroundings, the enormous cave, platforms and rocks connected by shaky bridges, flames dancing grotesquely against the dark stone. _I know someone, who would pay a pretty price for your head._ Eyes shooting back towards the great goblin, flickering between him and Thorin. _Just the head. Nothing attached to it_. Nervous murmurs and shuffling around her, fear creeping into each and everyone of them. _Perhaps you know of whom I speak. An old enemy of yours. The pale orc, who strides a white warg._

 

Her vision still blurred, taking deep breaths to regain balance, she scanned the crammed crowd around her, trying to tell friend from foe. _Azog the Defiler was destroyed._ Nowhere could she make out Bilbo, panic and relief coursing through her simultaneously. Had he stayed behind? Had he found a way to slip past the goblins? Had he...? _He was slain in battle long ago._

 

 _So you think his defiling days are done?_ Cruel laughter, chilling her bones as she looked back towards Thorin. She had heard of rumours, had never been as determined as Thorin that the orc who had claimed his grandfather's life was gone. _Send word to the pale orc._ A small, shrieking creature disappearing in the distance, hands pushing and pulling at them, the crowd swallowing Thorin once more.

 

 _And what do we have here?_ Black spots appeared when she was pushed forward, crashing into a goblin standing in front of her, the rotten smell of his skin burning itself into her memory. _Most certainly not a dwarf._ Suddenly, she found herself more freely, no one in front of her but the king of this underground lair. _Do bring her closer, I can barely see._ Another push, lethal fingers wrapped daftly around her arms, blood now dripping across her lips. _How fair. It is not often creatures such as you wander into our kingdom_.

 

The iron taste of her own blood awoke a deeply rooted instinct inside of her, her eyes finally clearing. _Free her hair._ She inhaled sharply as the goblin by her side roughly pulled at her hair, freeing it from the loose braid, pulling out strands that were already covered in the deep crimson of her own blood. _Do tell me, how soft is her skin?_ Her arms shot forward, fists connecting with the hollow chest of one of her capturers as his leathery finger trailed her cheek. _Do not touch me again!_

 

More pairs of arms suddenly wrapped around her from behind, holding her so tightly she could barely move, cold and dirty hands smearing her own blood across her face and neck.

 _Oh, that voice. I'm sure it will sound much better... screaming._ She struggled within the deadly grip, twisting her arms and legs, searching for just one weak link in the chain as the goblins around her continued to wave their skinny fingers through her hair, pulling and pushing her between them.

 

 _Let her go!_ Somewhere, far off, she could hear Thorin's voice, filled with rage. It was impossible to turn her head, to look for him, to get a glimpse of his face before the void that opened inside of her would swallow her whole.

 

 _Oh, let her go we will not._ The great goblin's voice turned so sickly sweet she begun to feel her stomach twisting, kicking her feet helplessly against whatever she could reach. _Something so exquisite. What a waste it would be._

 

The sound of metal soaring through the air, sharp and distinct. _Here, make sure she remembers where she belongs now._ From her peripheral vision, she saw the orange glow of the many torches reflect sharply in the blade of a knife, dirty and ragged, still crusted with blood, now black and dry.

 

 _No._ Her own voice almost unrecognisable as she struggled with the last bit of strength she had left.

 

_Let go of her!_

 

A last echo of Thorin's roar, before she felt, only briefly, something cold against her right cheek. A last second of struggle, memories of other fights she had won, and the realization that she was helpless now, vulnerable, weak, before a searing pain spread from her cheek throughout her body, her chest burning as she screamed.

 


	23. run for your life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Run For Your Life by The Fray.

 

**XXIII. _if one of us fall the other will soon be following_**

 

**sixty years later**

 

 _Then what is it that makes you want to give up your own life?_ Eyes, weathered by too many years lived to still count, softening, sadness shimmering in them like dying stars.

 

 _All he wanted was to return home._ Words she had never spoken aloud. _And he never... He did not deserve to suffer as he did._ Dragon fire flickering before her eyes, the heart of the mountain glowing like the brightest sun in the depths of her memories. _Everything he was afraid of, everything he feared would happen... It happened. You remember as well as I do. He was not himself in the end, Gandalf._

 

 _He was in the very end_. Warmth. Almost like a father's voice, one she had never heard in her life. _When he took his last breath, he was all yours, Elrénia._

 

Memories she wished to extract from her mind and lock away in the locket that rested so heavily against her chest. _And is that knowledge worth lifetimes of solitude and grief? And sadness?_ Fingers slipping away, eyes turning towards the West. _I have lived many lifetimes, Gandalf. There is nothing left for me to do._

 

_There is this last thing. One last time._

 

. . . . .

 

Somehow, she found herself on her knees, head bowed down as heavy drops of blood began to cover the wooden panels beneath her. A horrifying rumble echoed through the cave, instruments of torture being dragged and pushed into their midst.

 

A cruel chant filled the air, chilling songs of pain and torment. Almost violently, her arms trembled as she pushed herself into an upright position, eyes still fixed upon the ground, the deep fall of the cave black between the rotting boards. Slowly, afraid of what they would discover, her fingers trailed up the blood-smeared expanse of her neck, the gash on her cheek raw and warm beneath her touch.

 

Pain was long forgotten, absolute silence filling her head as each pump of blood throbbed within her entire body. Perhaps she had forgotten, perhaps the ragged knife, the scream that had torn her lungs apart, had washed away all pains like bloody rain.

 

The crowd around her was no longer standing still in restraint, fighting once more against their capturers and the growing threat oozing from every niche and crevice of the underground lair. Daring to look up from the pool of her own blood, she found Thorin wrestling in the arms of a handful of goblins, pushing closer and closer in her direction. A mingle of limbs, short and long, aimless and cruel.

 

Much like awakening from a dark and distant dream, she began to feel consciousness returning into her mind and bones, every nerve ending buzzing with life, instincts roaring inside her chest like a caged animal. With a sudden surge of strength, she pushed herself away from her knees, her legs aching for barely a moment as she stood.

 

A scream suddenly filled the foul air, metal heavily dropping onto the ground.

 

 _I know that sword._ Panic erupted around her like a flame, growing and growing. _It is the Goblin Cleaver._ It were their leaders words that seemed to spur the goblins on, lashing and grabbing at them, leathery hands grasping her arms as she turned. _The Biter._ As the chaos around her began to turn into a fight, her eyes lost any trace of Thorin. With a single blow of her elbow, the goblin whose bone-like fingers had gripped her was knocked out, and she dove forward, any last memory of pain washed away. _The blade that sliced a thousand heads. Slash them!_ Still she fought, gathering all her strength to push away their capturers, duck away when one came lunging at her. _Kill them!_ There seemed to be no use in fighting back as the goblins began to crawl over them, too superior in number. _Kill them all! Cut off his head!_

 

The Great Goblin's words rang chillingly in her ears, and she frantically searched for any sign of Thorin, seeing nothing but decaying limbs and beards flickering past as she held her arm protectively in front of her face.

 

Only when she quickly dropped her head a few inches to escape the bloody fist of another goblin did she make out the heavy material of Thorin's cloak against the wooden panels, a hoard of goblins hovering above him, knife pointed as he struggled. Deeply inside of her, anger and rage mingled with fear, memories of his body dangling above the bottomless abyss flashing once more in her mind.

 

Before she had even the most remote chance to push past the goblins, a bright light appeared so suddenly, so terrifyingly, flashing through the cave like lightning. With a hollow feeling in her stomach, she lost her grip on the ground, everyone around her also knocked down by the force that seemed to run through the air.

 

As quickly as it had come, the light was gone, her eyes opening slowly as she lay flat on her back, all the air rushing out of her lungs. There was absolute silence, or perhaps it only felt like it now that no one was moving and the fighting had ceased. Darkness swallowed all.

 

Slowly, life seemed to seep back into everyone, her limbs moving as she rose onto her knees, orange light illuminating the cave once more. She saw him then, merely a silhouette against the fire, hat and staff too distinct to betray her eyes.

 

_Fight!_

 

It was all it took. Groans and mumbles turned into battle cries, everyone leaping to their feet and scrambling forward to where the goblins had hoarded their weapons. Briefly her eyes caught sight of Thorin moving back onto his feet, before she discovered her sword, the cold metal fitting back into the palm of her hand, made and shaped for no one else's.

 

More weapons began to soar above their heads, hands reaching out to grasp them before they quickly served their bloody service. With the confidence of her sword back, she began to move towards the outer side of the fighting crowd, her mind fighting against the stench of blood and the shiver as the blade of her sword ended one after another of their capturers lives.

 

Following Gandalf's command, they made their way off the platform and along one of the countless narrow bridges, seemingly having been put up before the beginning of time, foul with decay and a tripwire to walk upon. Merely for a heartbeat did they seem to have escaped, not nearly long enough for the grip on her sword to loosen. Much too quickly, the goblin’s piercing shrieks echoed amongst the stone walls again, hurried feet following them at rapid speed, closing in on them from all sides.

 

Their enemy had the advantage here, for they were merely strangers, lost, prisoners in an underground lair unknown to any of them.

 

There was no way of telling by how many they were being chased, or how many ran into her sword, leaving nothing but a bloody stain against the glowing metal. Her arms acted on their own accord, freeing her own way as she followed Gandalf through the underground maze of wooden planks and gruesomely twisted torches.

 

 _Fili!_ Her scream could barely be heard across the sound of metal clinging and foul screeches that chilled the very marrow in her bones, and her heart leaped as he turned, immediately understanding her intention. He lowered his head quickly as she lifted her sword, swinging it merely inches above his light hair, the tip lunging into the ribcage of yet another rotten creature.

 

More and more seemed to crowd the narrows bridges and paths, no end, no light in sight. Out of every crevice, at least a dozen goblins seemed to appear, driven by mad rage and a lethally strong lust for blood.

 

Suddenly, and with a loud crash that throbbed painfully behind her eardrum, their tormented run came to a brutal halt, her feet stopping in their tracks, arm reaching out to hold back Bofur as he stumbled further forward.

 

 _You thought you were going to escape me?_ The foul, reeking and large king was fuelled by rage, lashing out with his staff as Gandalf stood before them, more and more goblins surrounding them, trapping them once more. _What are you going to do now, wizard?_

 

Many times before had she trusted Gandalf, had known he knew ways beyond those of any mortal or immortal being in this world. Now, however, a dark cloud settled upon them, no escape or ruse there to grasp, vaporising, slipping uselessly through their fingers.

 

When Gandalf's sword ended the Great Goblin's life, no surprise, no relief washed over her. Too soon was the ground once more ripped away from beneath her, the falling platform pulling them into the depth of the cave. No clear picture would form as they raced towards the ground, falling so deeply into darkness that no air filed her lungs.

 

Only when they hit the ground could she breathe again, one large surge of breath leaving her throbbing lungs. Light as her body was, she found herself on her feet before the cold of the cave could seep into her bones.

 

 _Well, that could have been worse_.

 

Her eyes met Gandalf's, lingering as he stared. Only now did she remember the blood that still clung stickily to her skin, hiding her face from this dark world. There was no time to dwell, and she turned in time to see the goblin king's corpse crash down upon the debris of the platform, the dwarves still buried beneath the many planks and splinters.

 

 _Gandalf!_ All eyes followed Kili's own, a swarm of goblins making their way towards them, crawling down the steep wall of the cave like insects, coming closer and closer as time passed, sand grain by sand grain.

 

 _There's too many._ One by one the dwarves scrambled out from underneath the debris, her own hand pulling almost violently on Ori's arm to free him. _We can't fight them._

 

_Only one thing will safe us. Daylight. Run!_

 


	24. too close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Everything Has Changed by Adam Merrin.

 

**XXIV. _you got too close, you saw the lie_**

The sunlight was almost blinding once it hit her eyes in full force, the steep hillside that met the walls of the mountain engulfed in a warm glow. On any other day, she might have seen the beauty of the radiating sun casting its spell upon the blossom of summer, green leafs dancing in the sunlight, covering long lost memories of blood and death.

 

Now, all that was on her mind was to keep her legs moving forward, fighting against the growing darkness that threatened to overcome her, the beating of her heart suddenly less steady, less effortless. She could feel her body fighting, and her mind began to lose control over her actions.

 

It seemed all too quick that their company came to a stuttering stop, loud and staggered breathing filling the air. Her hands, dusted and coated in drying blood, came to rest upon her thighs, dark shadows flickering in front her eyes. She was not used to exhaustion such as this, to her body's battle to keep her alive. The resilience of her elven blood, the foreignness of fatigue and depletion.

 

 _Where is Bilbo? Where is our hobbit?_ Panic shot through her much like pain, eyes frantically scanning the small crowd amongst the weak shelter of the trees. _Where is our hobbit?_

 

Everybody turned to search for the last member of their company, yet Bilbo was nowhere to be seen. _Curse the halfling. Now he's lost._ When her eyes, still clouded in dark shadows and shining stars, fell upon Gandalf, the worry and utter despair leaking through his usually so solid shell only increased her own fear.

 

 _Where did you last see him?_ He had not wanted to come along on this quest, had no involvement and no commitment. A curious, warm soul, innocent and thrown into this violence and terror.

 

Vaguely, a memory crept its way back into her helpless mind, merely the recalling of a thought, lost within pain and blood. _I never saw him after we were captured._

 

 _I think I saw him slip away._ A small, desperate flicker of hope washed over their faces, but what good would it serve poor Bilbo to have escaped the initial fight? What chance did he have, lost and on his own in the maze of the mountain's endless caves?

 

_What happened? Tell me!_

 

She needed to fight for every breath by now, her legs protesting under the weight of her own body. _I'll tell you what happened. Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it._ Her hand reached out as slowly as she could to press against the rough bark of a tree, seeking what little support it could offer. _He thought of nothing but his soft bed and warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door. We will not be seeing our hobbit again._ Thorin could not see her from where he stood, yet she could clearly make out the determination in his stance. The soft echo of his words, a thin, underlying thread of grief that she could make out – it tore her heart apart. _He has long gone._

 

 _No. He isn't._ All heads turned, including her own. The swift and unexpected movement caused the world to turn entirely to darkness for a few heartbeats, before slowly regaining colour.

 

 _Bilbo._ His name escaped her lips as a sigh, the relief that washed upon her as light and warm as rain cooling down a hot summer day.

 

The conversation around her began to drift off, words lost in the rush of her own blood pulsating in her ears. _past the goblins?_ More and more tiny lights freckled in front of her eyes, like jewels. _what does it matter?_ Skin itching beneath drying blood. _I want to know._ All she could do was focus on her breathing. Slowly in. Slowly out. _you always have_. Fingernails digging into the bark of the tree, moss and rotten wood getting caught beneath them. _that's where I belong_. Bilbo's words softly ringing in her ears, tears dwelling in her eyes. She could not bring herself to understand why. _you don't have one_. Was it wrong to wish for the pain to end? _help you_.

 

And eerie silence fell upon them, so heavy that she thought she might have finally lost consciousness, released from the pain and exhaustion that threaded themselves through every nerve and muscle in her body.

 

The small flicker of peace only lasted for a short moment, too short, too fragile, before ghastly howls ripped through the air, ending the silence she had clung to so desperately.

 

_Run!_

 

. . .

 

**sixty-four years earlier**

 

His eyes softened slowly, shade by shade lightening up, taking her in with caution. Her whisper still lay heavily between them, the cool fingertips that rested against his cheek drawing numbers and figures.

 

Every inch of her skin shivered as his hand came to rest upon her waist, heavy and warm. He did not pull her closer, made no step towards her. Instead, he held her tightly in place, as if he was afraid she might slip away once more.

 

 _We can never-_ His voice was filled with sorrow, and she interrupted him before it got the chance to enhance her own melancholy. _I know_.

 

_I want-_

 

Words sliced deeper than any blade she had ever come across. Perhaps it was an act of defence, perhaps the longing that had boiled inside of her since the last time she had laid eyes on Thorin, perhaps there was no reason at all when she swallowed his words with her lips. She pressed them chastely, but strongly against his, her palm wandering from his cheek to cling to his neck, needing to hold him tighter.

 

His words lingered, and she knew he was right. There was no place for them in this world, no path to walk together. With a heavy heart, begging whatever power she trusted to keep her tears hidden from his piercing eyes, she parted their lips, loosened the grip of her hand around his neck.

 

Just as she was about to take a heavy-hearted step backwards, Thorin's grip on her waist tightened, and before she had time to breathe, he pulled her against him, no room for air between their bodies as his lips crashed into hers. The fingers of his free hand tangled through her hair, paying no mind to the loose braid that held them together. Their lips fought a joint battle, moving together with bruising force. Almost desperately, she clung to his shoulders, needing to get closer, always closer, crawling under his skin if she needed to.

 

 _I must go_ , she whispered, feeling the warmth and dampness of his breath against her skin as they parted. He spoke no words of protest, let his arms drop to make room for her to step back. Only for a short moment they stared into each others eyes, the silence speaking for itself.

 

Were they to never meet again? Would she carry her feelings to the end of time? Would they become a mere shadow of what they were now? Could a day come when he thought of her without misery?

 

 _Elrénia, wait._ Her slow steps halted, the crunch of gravel beneath her boots turning silent. As she turned, she could hear him taking swift steps towards her, and his hand upon her arm pained her more than it brought comfort. _You can not just run off into the night. These mountains are dangerous._

 

She smiled, a crooked smile void of happiness or humour. _You know I can fend for myself._

 

 _I will not let you travel these paths alone after nightfall._ Despite his words, Thorin dropped his hand, re-establishing the sheer and honest fact that whatever they felt, however much he worried, it changed nothing.

 

 _Surely you must be getting back to your kin._ The need to be close to him and the need to never see him again were tearing her apart, neither one strong enough to defeat the other. _I am sorry to have bothered you._

 

She turned once more, taking deep breaths, feet rushing to take her into the shelter of the tress, where there were no witnesses to her tears. _Elrénia._

 

His voice trembled as he spoke her name, and as she stopped once more, her breathing hitched.

 

 _Thorin, I always travel alone. You have never said a word against it._ She had not wanted to speak those words, had never even known them to be on the edge of her tongue, had longed for them not to change things between them. But had they changed? Were they different because of three small words she could not keep in any longer? _Why now?_

 

 _Because now, I can help. And I will not let you walk into danger unprotected when there is something I can do._ His breath was warm on the exposed skin of her neck, and she wondered quietly when he had walked up to her. _Let me walk with you. If only for a few days until passage is more secure_. A warm hand pressing into her shoulder. Her eyes fluttering shut in defeat. _Please._

 


	25. numbered days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Babel by Mumford and Sons.

 

**XXV. _because I know that time has numbered my days_**

 

How she had climbed the tree was beyond her. There was a sharpness to everything, rendered too clear, her body on a rush so high she felt her fingers digging painfully deep into the crumbling wood. The others were close, their breathing ragged and filling the air with fear.

 

Darkness now swallowed the world, the sky turning dark so rapidly she thought it an illusion first. The moon barely fought its way through the thick layer of grey clouds, a messenger of doom, pain and misery. Giving life to their hunters.

 

Howls grew louder, turned into grumbling so deep and menacing that it chilled her to the very core. They were trapped. Trapped high up in the trees as the wargs began to gather beneath them, the stench of blood and decay foul in the air.

 

All they were now was prey. Hunted down and trapped.

 

Her eyes fell on Bilbo, who had climbed up last. Only minutes ago, he had returned, had proven himself capable of the challenges and dangers of their quest. Were they all to end this way? Was this how his story – their stories – would end?

 

Suddenly, the creatures' attention seemed to falter, their grotesque faces turning away from the company trapped up high in the ancient trees. Her eyes followed, heartbeat picking up speed as one more warg appeared.

 

Glowing silver in the dim moonlight. The white flesh of the orc riding it like lightning, fearful and foul. She did not need to hear Thorin's voice. She knew who it was.

 

_Azog._

 

Thorin was too close to her for his hushed voice to go amiss. Her eyes fixated on him, panic immediately shooting through her veins. The mystery of their hunters was resolved, yet the answer brought along deeper rooting fears. A thirst for vengeance. A thirst too deep and too grave to be ignored.

 

She wanted to reach out and cling to Thorin's coat, hold him captive in this trap, anything to hold him in place. While she knew she could have – he was close, and she needed little support to hold her balance – something stopped her, the knowledge that her holding him back now would cut through what fine thread of trust he still held in her.

 

Gruesome words echoed through the night air, words she only understood very few of, a tongue she never learned, one she had hoped to never hear again.

 

_It cannot be._

 

Her fingers dug deeper into the wood as the pale orc send his wargs off to kill them – she knew despite not knowing the words of his twisted tongue. A ruthlessness behind them that was beyond her grasp.

 

The earth shook with each lethal paw that hit the ground, the trees that offered them so little refuge shaking as the wargs began to charge, long claws leaving deep marks in the bark. The large creatures jumped high, much higher than anyone of them could. Deeper and deeper did she dig her fingers into the tree, holding on as tightly as she could as the wood that carried her began to give in.

 

All she could see when she dared to look down were unbreakable jaws and large teeth, stained dark from blood. They hit the trees with so much force, purposely trying to bring them down, biting off branches, ridding them of any stability.

 

It did not take long for the first tree to give in, roots sprouting out of the ground as if they were mere spider webs, thin and delicate, no more strength to hold the heavy, ancient growth.

 

She watched in horror as the tall tree began to drift closer and closer towards them, branches intertwining until she could hardly tell them apart, their company jumping to what little safety the next tree could provide, clinging to threateningly thin branches for dear life.

 

One by one, the trees gave in, forcing everyone closer and closer to the very last, towering above the edge of the cliff. Swiftly and with little effort, she climbed up to a higher branch. She could easily have climbed to the very top, yet what good could come out of that? There was no way to go except into the pool of blood-thirsty wargs or the darkness and sheer endlessness of the cliff upon which her eyes now rested.

 

Her balance wavered slightly as Kili held on to the very same branch she clung to, jumping to safety from the last falling tree. He slipped as the branch gave in, creaking ominously. Her reaction was quick, one arm shooting upwards to sling around a more stable branch, the other grasping for Kili's arm the very same second their thin branch gave in.

 

His weight as he fell threatened to pull her down, yet her grip on him was strong, and he recovered quickly enough to wrap his arms around another branch. Her heart beat furiously as she used the branch she held on to for leverage, pulling herself up, not letting go of Kili until she was sure he had found a secure hold.

 

He looked up at her, face pale, an undecipherable expression in his young eyes. _Thank you._

 

She nodded, but could not bear to look at the young dwarf any longer than necessary, the resemblance to his uncle too grand, almost the mirror image of a younger Thorin, one she had once known, always bitter, yet with so much more hope and spirit than the one now focussed on nothing but the pale orc whose cruel laughter filled the air.

 

The appalling smell of smoke suddenly penetrated her nostrils, and, looking up, she saw Gandalf providing them with the only protection there was left. Small flames seemed to lick the palm of his hand as he gently blew to increase the ferocity. Throwing it to the ground, the flames immediately began to spread, the force of fire always a wonderment to her. The beastly creatures recoiled at once, angry growls erupting from below.

 

Dwalin's arm almost knocked her off the branch as she caught one of the oddly cool balls of fire, for that was what they truly looked like. She flung it down, watching as numerous small flames lead to a towering wall of fire between them and their hunters, lightning up dried grass and blood stained fur.

 

While it kept the creatures at bay, it only trapped their company more, the heat now radiating, soaking through layers of fabric and skin.

 

For a short moment, some of the dwarves that surrounded her – all of them now crammed upon the last remaining tree – shouted out in a sense of victory. Yet, the celebration lasted only shortly, for a dark and deep rumble brought on what she had feared. Slowly, the deep roots of the tree came out of the ground, no earth left to hold them in.

 

It happened quickly then, the tree tilting towards the cliff, falling, falling, her arms clinging tightly to the branch, legs dangling in the air, the darkness of what lay beyond the cliff's edge beneath her feet, nothing to stop the fall – until it stopped.

 

The air was knocked out of her lungs as gravity pulled her downwards, arms aching as they were pressed against the tree's thin branch with so much force. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ori loosing his grip, spiralling downwards into nothingness. She was helpless, out of reach, and fighting against the slowly returning fatigue to balance herself.

 

Only briefly did she reassure herself of the young dwarf's fate, seeing him dangling from Dori's legs, precariously unsteady, both of them now too close to loosing their grip. Her eyes wandered back towards the cliff, where flames now seemingly licked against the night sky, her view obscured by branches and the blurring vision of heat.

 

The thought of death had come across her mind too many times before, beginning with her mother's lifeless, cold hand resting in her own. Blood and pain, blades and arrows. Broken hearts and salty tears. Had she not almost given her life for Thorin? Had he not saved her in return? Was their debt to remain unfulfilled?

 

Were they to go down together, after all? Had history come full circle? Was this the finishing chapter of their story, going back to decades before, when blades were sharp and blood ran thickly.

 

She knew he would not go down without a fight, would gladly take the leap into certain death as long as he could take the pale creature with him. Heartbeat pounding in her ears, fingers growing tired of holding her life by a thread, legs feeling heavier and heavier as they pulled her down, her gaze flickered between Azog, victory too surely etched upon his scarred face, and Thorin, turned away from her, face obscured by flame and darkness.

 

When Thorin moved to stand, proud and determined, a king of old before his doom, darkness finally took over.

 

. . . .

 

**sixty years later**

 

His face obscured by a dark hood, arms slung around himself as a shelter from the cold. Rain seeping into her own skin, layers of fabric clinging to her.

 

 _The wizard sent you. He told me._ A deep voice, like gravel, weathered by long years lived.

 

Keeping her own hood low, neither her pale skin nor a single strand of her hair visible. _Was he so sure I would come?_

 

 _You know him better than I do._ A truth she knew, cautious steps down the dark path.

 

 _Have we met before? Strider?_ She knew his real name, knew who he was – one more king left without his crown. She also knew the wild, knew it better than anything else. The wild, where names meant vulnerability and identities were lost and blurred with the wind.

 

Eyes gleaming in the moonlight before he turned away. _Not that I recall._

 

The town of men like a dark shadow between the thick forest. Mud coating her boots as they took slow steps.

 

The sign dancing in the wind. The colour that once let the pony stand out now fading.

 


	26. into bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titletaken from Somebody Loved by The Weepies.

 

**XXVI. _wind turns the trees into bone_**

 

**sixty-four years earlier**

 

That night, she found no sleep. Her hood obscuring her face, sheltering her from the cold wind, hands tucked into her sides, fingers curled around the handle of her trusted blade, legs stretched out in front of her to soak up the warmth of the fire.

 

He was leaning against a tree close by. Close enough to share the comfort of the fire, close enough for her gaze to flicker over his features whenever her eyes fluttered open. And she could not seem to keep them closed. Her mind was reeling, the words she had uttered earlier now foolish and useless. The echo of Thorin's touch so sharp and clear it sent shivers down her spine.

 

Whenever she looked at him, he seemed absolutely quiet, much like he had in the hours before, when they had walked alongside through the thickness of the trees. No more words spoken, the weight of their earlier conversation pulling them down.

 

She knew he was not asleep, his breathing not even enough, the feeling of his gaze upon her whenever she closed her eyes too strong to elude her.

 

. . . .

 

Flames. It was all she could see, clinging to the tree with her tired arms. The world flickered in and out of darkness, only illuminated by the fierce and blood red light of the flames that licked the ground.

 

After a few steps, Thorin disappeared from her sight, swallowed by the fire, a cruel growl, almost like sick laughter, echoing in her ears, chilling her bones. Fingers growing weak, interlacing into a fist to keep her more secure.

 

She did not dare to look downwards, had no strength to direct her gaze towards poor Ori. There was no strength left in her to move up, to see where Thorin was, what was happening. Her mind instead filled to the brink with blood and death, the wicked smile of a pale creature riddled with scars.

 

. . . .

 

The second night, she found herself burning. Burning as his arm brushed hers when he moved to a more comfortable position. Closer to her than before, his breathing loud in the silence of the night.

 

One small reach and she could press her palm against his shoulder blades, could smooth away the crinkles in his coat.

 

They had barely exchanged a word all day, small commands and questions, nothing of substance, nothing reminding them of the heavy words exchanged before, words that now hung over them like a dark cloud, threatening to burst into a rain of flames.

 

She woke up in the middle of the night to the crackling of the dying fire, her hand an inch away from his own.

 

. . . .

 

 _Elrénia!_ Somewhere far off, the echo of her own name tingled her senses. _Take my hand!_ Everything in her eyesight stilled blurred, fingers beginning to slip. _Elrénia!_

 

It was one last drop of curiosity that lifted her head. Kili, barely clinging onto his own branch, face distorted in terror, held out his arm towards her. She wanted to whisper that it was too far away, wanted to shout that she had no more strength to reach him.

 

Her eyes met his, youth long forgotten, along with all its carefree thoughts and dreams. Death. Terror. Blood. All tainting unscathed skin, and she wanted to cry as Kili desperately tried to move closer. _Take my hand!_

 

Almost crying out in pain and exhaustion, she unwrapped one of her arms from around the branch, flinging it towards Kili in one last shot. If she missed, if he failed to hold on to her blood-smeared hand, she would have no more hold, no secure grip. The abyss would take her.

 

He did not miss, did not fail her, caught her hand before it could slip, and pulled her up far enough for her to dangle less above the darkness of the cliff, to find a better hold, a more secure spot. She wished, however, almost immediately, to return to where she had been before, precariously close to falling to her own death, for her new position brought with it a clear view at the wall of fire that sheltered them, and the act of revenge that seemed cruelly illuminated by it.

 

There was nothing to be done as she watched Thorin crashing into the ground, the air shooting out of her own lungs as she imagined his did, as well.

 

. . . .

 

 _It is quite safe here._ He was walking ahead of her when she finally dared to talk to him, to remind him that she did not need him to protect her, that he was still here for reasons she did not understand.

 

Thorin did not even turn to look at her when he replied, his words stoic, stating facts, not giving her implications any thought. _Not safe enough._

 

 _It is never safe enough in the wild. You can hardly walk with me for the rest of time._ For a moment, she stumbled over her own words, only hearing their dark echo as they passed her lips. A reminder of both the time they would never be able to spend together, and the immortality that separated her from him, from his kin, that illuminated her with the red glow of wrath in his eyes. _You need to go back._

 

He did not answer right away, perhaps the weight of her slippery words was too dangerous, too threatening. _That shall be_ my _decision._

 

_Thorin-_

 

 _Should we find something to eat?_ She closed her eyes, a long, whooshing breath escaping her lungs. A dance. A play. A charade. How was it to end?

 

. . . .

 

White paws. Muffled shouts. Flesh crashing into the dusty ground. Heat from the fire radiating. Legs trembling. Balin's cry slicing through her like a ragged knife. A lethal growl. Panic shooting through her as Bilbo scrambled to his feet.

 

No one close enough as the beast took Thorin into the tight and sharp grip of his jaws. A pained scream. Dwalin rushing to get to him, the thin branch cracking, his dangling feet almost knocking her down.

 

Fingertips digging into the bark so forcefully she felt her nails breaking. Her eyes meeting those of the foul pale creature, victory and death all in one assembled upon his scar-riddled face.

 

Everyone around her moving, shuffling, clinging, swinging, trying so desperately to get to him, to not let their king die while they looked on, hands tied, unable to move.

 

Her sword resting heavily against her side, yet she knew there was nothing she could do but watch. No more strength in her arms, fingers numb, her own body too heavy to hold itself upright.

 

There was only one thing left to do. Watch him die in front of her. Too petrified to intervene.

 

. . . .

 

The third night, they sat across from each other, the flames dancing in between them, obscuring their faces, blurring lines and illuminating pale skin.

 

 _Why are you really here?_ Her whisper mingling with the cracking of burning wood, warmth seeping into her cool legs, barely sheltered by her coat as it fell mindlessly onto the dirty ground.

 

 _Because there is something you are not telling me_. His fingers twirling his pipe, his piercing blue eyes not once falling upon her, as if their conversation were trivial, as if he had not properly understood where her thoughts were leading them. _You did not come all this way to tell me what you did._

 

She did not know the answer to this herself, a constant mantra of questions riddling her sleep, keeping her awake one night after the other. _What if I have?_ How could he be so sure when she was not?

 

 _I know you better than that._ Still spoken indifferently, yet his words pierced through her heart like a blade gleaming in the light of the fire, red hot and lethal.

 

 _Do you really think you know me?_ Her hands open, palms facing the night sky, vulnerable, weak, lost in the turmoil of her own thoughts.

 

Finally, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers, the heat of the fire turning his features into soft wax, like a painting of an ancient king. _Yes._

 

. . . .

 

Once more, she understood no word of what the pale orc uttered, yet she could feel the blood in her veins chill, becoming harder and harder to pump, dizziness taking over.

 

All she wanted now was to let go, to let the abyss claim her, anything to not have to watch on, but even for that her strength was too little, her body seemingly one with the tree. Unable to move, almost unable to breathe.

 

Something blue shone in her peripheral vision, yet her eyes remained fixed upon Thorin. She did not want to look on, yet something seemed to bind her to him, as if her gaze alone could rescue him when her body and strength had failed.

 

The black sword moved through the air and she could see it so clearly in her mind. His smile. It took over.

 

She hardly noticed when Bilbo knocked over the foul looking orc, when the sound of his sword hitting flesh echoed through the air.

 

_His smile..._

 

. . . .

 

The last night before it all changed, she almost tripped over the fire as he suddenly took hold of her arm. Spinning around, she found herself enveloped by his arms, strong and determined.

 

_Do not send me away like I did you. Please._

 

Before she could bring herself to speak, tongue twisted and a tight coil in her throat, keeping the air away, his lips brushed against hers in an apology so sincere, she could no longer hold back her tears.

 

. . . .

 

The sound of metal in the air, weak arms pulling her up into a more secure position, shaking her, her name ringing in her ears as a shrill and harsh sound, foreign and disturbed, filled the air.

 

A sudden rush of wind blowing loose strands of hair into her face, the pale streaks sticking to the trail of blood coating her skin as another shriek filled the night, less foul, less threatening – a promise of hope.

 

Her fingers finally slipping. Her body swaying. Soft feathers like a rain of silk.

 


	27. the same scar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Wire to Wire by Razorlight.

**XXVII. _on our bodies we share the same scar_**

 

The tension was almost unbearable. Thick and merciless, its screaming echo ringing in her ears no matter where she looked. They walked on through the thick forest in silence, the past night a blur of vivid images in her mind.

 

His words were loudest, repeating over and over, the plea that had passed his lips so silently, filled with so much sadness. His touch followed, still burned into her skin, setting it aflame. Rough and urgent, filled with all the words he could not utter. His lips blazing fire. The tears she had kissed away as the fire had died down.

 

She had awoken in his arms, tucked tightly against his side. For a short moment, she had allowed herself to sink into the embrace, cherish the warmth and shelter, the small flicker of light that spoke of love and a future.

 

One she knew they could never share.

 

By the time he had woken up, she had already been dressed and sharpening her blade, her back turned to him, hiding the red lines that marked her eyes.

 

Not one word had been uttered all day, and with each step she wondered how long they could keep going like this. Tied together by what had been spoken and done, yet further apart then ever before. There was a burning in her throat, like poison slowly filling her with each breath she took.

 

As the light began to fade around them, another day slowly dying, her eyes focussed on what little she could make out of the sky above them. Tinted in an orange glow, calm and soft, almost like a painting of old.

 

_It is beautiful, isn't it?_ Her eyes flickered back down. She was surprised to see Thorin standing right in front of her, so much closer than before. His own eyes shot towards the sky, and while she tried to make out the meaning of his words, figure out the edge of his voice that seemed so calm and free, her gaze followed.

 

_It is._

 

_I used to wander towards the guard towers all my childhood, late in the evening, stealing away from the dinner table. My father was in such a rage, but I could not miss it. The sun setting, painting the sky._ Their eyes met, red streams reflected in his, like blood flowing through the sea. She remembered the saltiness of his tears, and how her heart had broken in two at the sight.

 

_What are we doing here, Thorin?_ A hushed whisper, everything between them so aflame, so ashen and wrong that not even the trees should witness. From the moment they had met, over two decades ago, they had danced around this question, had avoided it like a searing flame.

 

That day, she should have left town, should have disappeared into the forest without looking back, leaving the nameless blacksmith behind as a mere flicker of shadow in the long years of her life. She should have gone. Instead, she had watched him in the inn that night, flames dancing across his face as he sat by the fireplace. Instead, she had allowed him to talk to her, whisper words into her ear she could no longer recall. Instead, he had followed her to her room, calloused palm pressing against hers. Instead, she had bared herself him. Instead, he had branded her. Instead, she had given away her heart.

 

_I have no clue._ His words were as broken as her own, littered with all the debris of their lost souls. Trembling, he reached out, fingers brushing along her cheek, and the memory of his warm breath against her skin echoed within her. _I only know that I do not want to leave you._

 

She longed to close the small distance between them, to sink into his arms, even just one more time. _But you must._ The loneliness of the wild was beginning to tear at her seams, breaking her bit by bit, and the memories he was giving her, small seeds of hope, only caused her to burn.

 

Thorin nodded at her hushed words, both their gazes sinking to the mossy ground. Around them, the world began to fade away, the sky slowly turning shade by shade darker. A chill trembled through the air. She shivered as Thorin cupped her cheek, trailing her eyelashes gently with the tip of his finger. _Not tonight._

 

Not even a hint of hope was to be seen in his eyes, and the sheer and honest despair and sadness between them stretched her lips into a bitter smile. _What are you going to say tomorrow?_

 

Her breathing was steady, but she could feel the way her body fought, fought against every reasonable impulse to step away and finally end this. Instead, she leaned in closer, until her forehead rested against his, and her eyes followed the mirror of her own wicked smile on Thorin's lips. _I never thought you would give much thought to what might or might not happen tomorrow._

 

His breath fanned across her skin, warming her in the growing cold of the impending night. They should look for shelter, find some rest, for no matter what decision would be made, their strength was the one thing they had to rely on in the wild. The only thing. _You truly know me better than I thought._ She had learned centuries ago to trust no one but herself, to confide in no one else, to form no bonds, because those filigree webs knit between two people were the root of all heartache.

 

_That is why I know you lied to me._ No more words had been exchanged on the matter, on the sole reason they were here now, together, and not apart the way they should be – the way they had agreed seven years before. Her letter, her stumbled confession – a lie. There was no more anger in his voice, instead lined heavily with defeat.

 

_Thorin-_ The desire to tell him the truth began to glim inside of her like coal, yet she found no words, the fear of hurting him, of shattering all his hopes, of betraying a friend, all tying her tongue until nothing but a sigh left her lips.

 

No other words could follow the hollow whisper of his name, for his finger dropped slowly until it pressed against her lips. _It is all right._ She could not tell whether he was trying to console her, or soothe himself. _I know you will tell me when the time is right._

 

In this moment, as silence filled the void they were assembled in, she made her decision. To set him free from all the pain, from every small ounce of debt he believed in. She might not be able to erase their past, all the memories that were burnt into his mind as painfully as her own, but she could give him a brighter future, far away from her. From what she caused to bloom inside of him. Before the first ray of sunlight would break through the canopy of trees in the morning, she would be gone. She would disappear into the woods like she should have done so long ago. _There is never going to be a right time for all the things I wish to say._

 

This would be their last memory, forged from the salty trails of her tears and the faint echo of his heavy breaths. _So say them, anyway._ His lips were so close that they touched hers, yet so far away from a kiss that a dull ache spread through her chest. Not even a trail of thought lived long enough to form any idea how she wanted this to end. How she wanted to say goodbye without saying a word.

 

_No._ So many things she needed him to know. How much she believed in him, how many happy memories he had given her, no matter how many tears were intertwined with them. _Words, they-_

 

Suddenly, the world shifted.

 

The silence of the forest was disturbed, a ruffle amongst the leaves, a heaviness in the air. Something was moving in the darkness beyond the trees, voices not yet clear enough to be made out, yet hovering in the broken silence. The hairs on the back of her neck began to rise,and she took a cautious step out of Thorin's arms, eyes open and alert.

 

_What is it?_ He took her in, confused, his hands hanging pointlessly by his sides. For a long moment, she did not reply, listening to the sounds of the forest, to the bells ringing in her mind. Her heartbeat began to pick up, her skin tightening, every muscle tensing.

 

_There's something out there._

 

Thorin's hand immediately shot to his sword, not unsheathing it, but curling his hand around the handle tightly. His posture changed, tightening, straightening into that of a warrior.

 

Her fingers brushed along the handle of her own blade, swallowing as she looked down, the faintly blueish glow in the already indigo tinted night forest like a stab in the back. _Orcs._

 

Neither of them moved, both knowing, in silent agreement, that running would do them no advantage. The only chance they had now was that of surprise. Quickly, the distant voices became much clearer, only seconds passing until she could make out words, spoken in a tongue she could not understand. At least five pairs of feet disturbed the quiet of the night, and slowly, she unsheathed her sword, allowing the blue glow to illuminate the small clearing.

 

She could hear the slow sound of Thorin's sword as he pulled it up in front of him, larger and heavier than her own, dull metal in the shine of the moon. But she paid no more attention to it, all her senses focussing on the louder and louder bustle amongst the trees, foul voices now mingling with the scent of rotten flesh.

 

When they finally broke through the trees, scarred and disfigured, clad in blood-coated debris of armour, neither of them hesitated. The moment of surprise was on their side, the orcs gurgling in shock. Thorin's sword sliced through the first orc's neck, a clean cut as his head hit the mossy ground.

 

The others hesitated not a moment, their companion's death leaving them untouched as they drew their own ragged blades. She took light and quick steps forward, never a straight line, dancing towards them, their eyes following her as they lunged forward.

 

The first one to cause her swift feet to slow down gave her a gruesome smile, one that revealed foul teeth and the scent of rotten flesh and blood. A deep lash marked his face, barely healed, almost reaching bone. She circled him quickly, his blade rising as he set out for his lethal stroke.

 

With a twirl, her own blade met his arm. The flash and bone gave in, and she felt the blood in her veins chill as his agonized scream filled the air. Blood coated everything, and they were close enough for it to splatter against her chest, soaking into the fabric of her coat. Before the orc had found himself balanced again, she closed the gap between them, driving her sword deeply into his chest. With a gurgle, he gave in, dropping to his knees just as she pulled out her sword.

 

There was no time to dwell on the sick feeling in her stomach or the chill of her bones, for the sound of metal flinging through the air was too close. She turned in time to block an orc's stroke with her own blade. With one quick movement, she hooked her leg around the armour-clad shin of her opponent. His eyes flickered down briefly, and he made no more sound as she robbed him of his balance, slicing his throat with one swift swing.

 

For a brief second, not long enough for her heat to skip a beat, her eyes lingered on the orc's face, thick as leather, riddled with scars, blood smeared all over weathered skin. When she looked back up, already moving her feet, never lingering, her eyes fell upon Thorin, fighting another orc, moving his sword with lethal precision.

 

Her breathing ceased when she saw something moving behind Thorin, in the darkness of the trees. Grey skin, one eye replaced by a dark hollowness, the other shot with blood, legs moving quickly. The orc was close, too close, and Thorin seemed to not notice as he drove his blade through the other orc's stomach.

 

_Thorin!_ The last thing she saw as she flung herself forward was the gleaming red shine of a blade, piecing through the cold air, a sharp pain searing her back. Somewhere far away, and she wondered how that could be for the clearing was so small, she could hear her name.

 

. . .

 

For the longest moment, she thought she was caught in a vivid dream, bright and so full of colour. She was flying, lightly through the air like a mere feather, calm and steadily. There were birds by her sides, leading her way. Far-spread wings against the changing sky.

 

Below her, she saw the world passing. Perhaps she had fallen into the abyss, was flying into the world beyond this. Rivers, mountains, woods, all passed by so clearly beneath her, so far away, yet so sharp. She had always imagined it as a journey into darkness, into the night, illuminated only by the glow of the stars. Instead, the world began to awaken around her, sunlight glowing in the sky as she imagined every creature below her slowly crawling to their feet.

 

The wind danced through her hair, now loose, all hints of a braid long destroyed. It cooled the gash on her cheek, pain forgotten as she passed along in the air.

 

It was not until the ground slowly appeared to come nearer and nearer, the forest fading away, making space for a large rock, standing proudly and alone, that a throbbing pain returned, like an echo on its long journey back to where it once began.

 

The birds that had flown with her seemed suddenly upset, circling and turning, shifting. Her fingers twitched, eyes fluttering as she looked down to see her fingertips disappearing beneath soft yet strong feathers. Breathing heavily as the throbbing in her head increased, she looked around, other familiar faces close by, just as scared, just as overwhelmed.

 

Memories returned along with pain, seeping into every corner of her body, her eyes unable to focus. All she could do was hold on tighter, watching as they descended, solid rock coming closer and closer. Along the way, the need to remind herself to breathe was almost unbearable, each intake of breath burning her lungs, her ribcage aching, her arms prickling, her head splitting in half as a warm coat of fresh blood trailed down her neck.

 

The ground arrived all too sudden, her feet stumbling to find a hold on the uneven ground as everything blurred. There was nothing to hold on to, the beating of large wings shaking her. Her knees trembled, the taste of blood warm on her tongue. Yet it all faded when she turned.

 

It was all unclear and threatened to be taken over by darkness. Still, she saw enough to push her unwilling feet forward, stumbling along the rough rock, each step wrapped in searing pain. She saw stars, shining brightly in broad daylight, creating a halo above Gandalf's head as he knelt next to Thorin.

 

_Thorin._ She could not hear herself, could only feel her lips and tongue moving to form the word. He did not move, looked so peaceful as she stopped. Gandalf's hand moved slowly, his hushed words lost to her as the blood rushed in her ears. His name repeated in her mind over and over, as if the mere thought was enough to brand itself into her mind, to save him, to allow darkness to overtake her with him on her mind.

 

She took a stuttering breath as Thorin's eyes fluttered open. A weight seemed to lift off her shoulders, yet it also took away more of her balance, feet bumping into pebbles as she took a step back, moving, moving, surely falling as soon as she dared to stop.

 

_The halfling?_ His voice sounded burdened from pain and exhaustion, yet he spoke quickly, barely taking time to breathe, and she looked around to see Bilbo standing close by, exhaling in relief.

 

_He's all right._ She could still see flames lingering in the night, the shine of a blade in the moonlight, a wicked white grin that haunted her. _Bilbo is here._

 

She stumbled backwards as more and more of their company scrambled to their feet, reaching out to help Thorin to stand. Her hand fumbled for a rock, digging her fingertips into the sharp stone to balance herself. _You!_

 

The harsh sound of Thorin's voice irritated her, yet her eyes could barely make him out, just a other blurred figure against the rose sky. _What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed._ There was no strength left in her to stand up straight, to feel anger for Thorin's words, to even replay the memories of an innocent Bilbo driving his blade into the orc. It all mingled into a blood-coated blur that spun in her mind. _Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us._

 

His words echoed in her mind, as if he was speaking far, far away. She could make out as he moved forward, heard the faint sound of more words spoken, but to assemble them in her mind, to understand – it was too much. Dear Bilbo, who had been so misplaced in their company, who had proved himself worth of the task a dozen times.

 

When the two blurry figures she knew to be Bilbo and Thorin embraced, she believed her tired mind was playing a foul trick, lulling her into a warm and comforting silence. She was not ready to let go, to give up, and so she stumbled forwards once more, her fingers – coated in sweat and blood – slipping from the rock.

 

_I'm not a hero._ Where there truly heroes? _Or a warrior._ She remembered the first time her blade had sliced through skin, remembered the dimming shine in black eyes as death overcame the foul creature. The memory made her sick, no matter how many centuries passed.

 

For a moment, she believed the world was shifting beneath her feet, until, with a ragged breath, she realized that everybody was taking slow steps forward. Careful, almost in awe. Her eyes followed theirs for a brief moment, completely in vain, the world nothing but a blur, stars and blood and darkness.

 

_The Lonely Mountain._

 

Lonely. She longed to see it, this mountain, tall and proud, timeless and yet the sole peak in such a vast space. But her treacherous mind merely tricked her into thinking she could lay eyes upon it if only she moved. _The birds are returning to the mountain._ A soft tune played, almost like a harp, memories of younger days spent beneath waterfalls glimmering in the back of her mind. _But we'll take it as a sign. A good omen._ There was nothing to be seen, only a canvas of blue and orange, no trace of a mountain, of Thorin's home, the place that had haunted him and them for so long. _I do believe the worst is behind us._

 

Finally, her feet stopped, unable to drag themselves any further. Her heart bet furiously, yet no air seemed to flow into her lungs, eyes fluttering as the pain suddenly seemed to fade away. As the soft tune turned to silence, she felt her own lips move, forming a word she could not hear.

 

_Thorin..._ The last thing she saw was the faintly orange outline of a mountain on the horizon, solitary, all alone against the infinite sky. Somewhere far away, she could hear her name.

 


End file.
